


Broken Blade

by Nameless_Knight



Series: Flame Seeking Fate [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Male My Unit | Byleth, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-11-25 22:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nameless_Knight/pseuds/Nameless_Knight
Summary: Son in arms and home aflame, Jeralt has every ability to flee in secret from Garreg Mach.  But what did he know of a life beyond killing?  Son in arms, he stayed in Garreg Mach.  Altering the history of Fódlan.Obviously spoilers for the whole game and Jeralt's past and stuff.





	1. Chapter 1

The fire raged against the night, combating all attempts to snuff it out. The building was a lost cause, the treasures and history within it turning to ash. But Jeralt Eisner had the one thing left that truly mattered. Cradling his infant son in his arms he spared a look back at the burning building. This place was his home for over a hundred years. Home to so many memories, good and bad, the family he could have had, which lead to thoughts of the family he once did. His own parents were a half-remembered blur. Swore to do better with his own kids, if it ever came to it.

Now was the time to put it to the test. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the building aflame; it would be simple to vanish in the night. There would be no worry of noise. His son did not cry. Despite the heat that lashed at his skin, and the whiffs of smoke that stung at the eyes, his son did not cry. A baby that never cried, or smiled or laughed. Heat enough that Jeralt’s skin crawled and yet the baby did not cry.

The archbishop had done something. Marigold died during the birth. Rhea said she chose their son over herself. He could believe that. She smiled so much when pregnant. But everything else was wrong. No heartbeat, but his blood flowed. He did not smile, did not laugh or cry. It was an utterly unnatural situation and now was the best time to escape it.

He’d been Archbishop Rhea’s sword too long. He’d seen that soft zealotry that condemned anyone who antagonized her. Carried out the orders too many times. If Rhea wanted something, you didn’t get to say no.

He just never thought he’d be on the other end of her power and secrets. Not after so many years of dedication. Not after she gave her blood to save his life.

Now was the perfect opportunity to just disappear. All he had to do was leave the church and find some small corner of Fódlan to live out life in peace. But where could he go? What did he know about raising a child? He’d lived by killing for so long that protecting had long faded from his skillset. He had no trade to ply beyond death. 

This place had been everything to him for so long.

Friends. Students. Comrades. 

This was were she was buried. 

What would Rhea do if he was ever found? He knew what she did to enemies.

Jeralt looked back down at his son. Those blue eyes not even blinking. There was no good option here.

Jeralt walked back to Garreg Mach Monastery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping this is enough bait on this hook to get some interest and kick me back into a more focused writing mindset.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve years after staying at Garreg Mach Monastery, Jeralt Eisner receives a critical mission for the Holy Church of Seiros. And with him comes his son, Byleth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have mentioned this for the prologue, but I'll be making names up when necessary. It would be weird for Jeralt not to know the name of his wife or ever use it, you know?

**Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1171**

_ Twelve years later… _

The sword strike that came towards Jeralt was clean and precise. It didn’t stop him from knocking it away using only a single-handed grip, but his “opponent” was doing good work. He immediately returned to the defensive, doing his best to close any gaps Jeralt could exploit, before switching back to another round of offense. A rudimentary, but effective, attack and defend strategy.

The blows and thrusts came quick, aimed at vulnerabilities. Feet, hands, thighs and knees. Though Jeralt fended them all off, his opponent knew exactly how to fight, how to aim. Jeralt carefully smashed their wooden swords together and his opponent didn’t lose his grip. Holding too tight was just as dangerous as too loose and his student had passed the test.

“That’s enough,” Jeralt said and his opponent stopped midswing. “Good job, Son.” Breath hung visible in winter air. Cold slapped at sweat.

Byleth took a few moments to catch his breath before nodding at his father’s instructions and returning the training sword to its sheath. Chatter erupted from the mix of onlookers. Students, knights, squires and support staff. The son of Jeralt Eisner the Blade Breaker was the subject of too much gossip. How many twelve-year-olds could move like that after all?

“I hope you all take in what you saw here,” he continued. “There may be a gap here, but not once did my opponent ever let it rule him. He kept calm, he attacked my weak points, he didn’t drop his guard, he kept his weapon. Survival against a superior foe is victory, even if it doesn’t seem glorious.” There were some low murmurs and nods of approval. A hundred years and his speeches remained lousy. “You’re dismissed for the day.”

The various groups broke for the day. Most took a trip inside to get out of the crisp winter air. But a few groups of students in their black and gold uniforms mixed in with the white armored Knights of Seiros. Chatter commenced. Jeralt spared a few words to those who came for thanks or pleas or plans but he waved them off. He was concerned with the one person isolated from everyone else.

His son.

Despite all the gossip, few attempted conversation with him beyond once. Fewer still beyond twice. Byleth ignored it all walked up to him and just stared. That same stare he had every day.

“You can talk with the others, you know.”

“I do.” But he remained right next to him.

Maybe other parents would want a child this obedient. But what was a young man without a wild youth? Passion?

Himself for a few decades before he met Marigold. Or now, even. “I’m not gonna force you.” He’d stayed because he couldn’t raise a child on the road, killing all the while, but this seemed barely better. Maybe once he enrolled in the Officers Academy maybe he’d be fine. The gap between ages had isolated him as much as his demeanor did. And the few other children his age weren’t interested in swordplay. Not after he trounced them. “How about we hit the dining hall up? You’ve got to be hungry after a workout like that.”

“OK.”

Jeralt tousled his green head of hair. “Come on, show me that smile you practiced. Just like swinging swords.”

“Like this?” Byleth reached up and pulled up the side of his lips.

And Jeralt gave him a natural smile back. “Yeah, just like that.” And Byleth let his hands down and the smile with it. 

“Let’s eat then.”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, excuse me, Captain.” Jeralt spun around to see a newly arrived Alois and his poor attempt at a beard. “Lady Rhea and Seteth have called for you.” 

He scowled at the summons. “I’m busy.”

“I know, Captain, but they were…” Alois forced a pause. “Insistent.” 

Wasn’t obvious, but that slight uptick in voice, twitch of the eye. Making Alois nervous was a big deal. Wasn’t hard to imagine what. But he’d been out of active duty for twelve years. What did they want with him now? “Fine. After dinner.”

“Captain, I know what it’s about, and I think you do too, it’s urgent. Don’t worry, I’ll take him to the dining hall myself.”

“Fine—FINE. I get it.” Jeralt knelt down and gave his son a hug. “You be a good boy for Alois, OK? I’ll be back soon.”

“Right.” Nothing. Not even a hug back. What did she do to him? Never any answers. No way to get any.

“Don’t worry Captain, Byleth can rely on his ‘big brother’ to keep him safe and happy!” Alois pumped his arm at the mention. 

“Stop it with the brother thing already.” Jeralt shook his head. “A twelve-year-old shouldn’t be an uncle.”

“Come on, it’s all in good fun.” Alois laughed. “But really, you should get going. I don’t want another earful from Seteth.”

“Right, right. And shave that beard, it looks terrible.”

“Terrible?! Why you—” But Jeralt had left before the man had even recovered.

Out the grounds, through the walks, down the halls, up the stairs to the second story. To the archbishop’s room. Where she and Seteth awaited.

He offered them a bow. “Lady Rhea, Seteth. Reporting as ordered.” The sweaty and armored captain was hard at odds with the clean and serene pair he bowed to. He was a giant clash with the room too, all its expensive art and perfectly chiseled columns and Rhea’s elaborate golden throne she wasn’t sitting on.

The archbishop forced a smile for him. It wouldn’t work. Hadn’t in twelve years. Hard to think a hundred years of service could turn so easily but it did. He kept it civil. Always did. But just looking at her caused his chest to tighten. He’d never get answers. A hundred years, he knew that.

And on the other side Jeralt didn’t much like Seteth. He’d been brought on board seven or so years prior as Rhea’s new right hand. And Jeralt hadn’t heard anything about the man beforehand. He had to be a holy knight or cardinal moved out of secrecy. Which meant he was a fanatic. Someone given blood and extended life by Rhea to help her maintain the Church. 

But something didn’t add up. He didn’t have a Crest of Seiros like a holy knight or cardinal should. He had the Major Crest of Cichol. Which made him an even bigger mystery. That Crest didn’t exist outside the green-haired man before him.

“Jeralt, I am glad to see you,” she said. Her brows furrowed as she avoided direct eye contact. Her hands just avoided shaking and her words were solid. The guard she’d raised over the past twelve years had lowered once again. This was serious. “How is your son fairing?”

“Better than half the crop of noble brats I’ve been saddled with this year.” Every time they talked, he always came up. “But that’s not why I’m here, is it? What’s happening?”

“I am afraid you are correct. There have been troubles within the empire lately.”

Jeralt nodded at what he expected. A group of nobles were in a power struggle with the emperor. And they were winning. “I’ve heard.”

“Normally we would not concern ourselves with internal government affairs, but this situation could spark incidents beyond the empire’s borders.”

Which could draw in the kingdom, or alliance. Or anyone else wanting a chunk of Fódlan. “You want me to head to the empire for something then?” Meddling like that could make it even worse.

“Quite the opposite,” Seteth said. “We wish you to head for the kingdom.”

“Can’t say I expected that.” 

“According to our reports, key members of the Imperial household have sought asylum with the kingdom’s elite.”

“It is our worry this might lead to… complications,” said Rhea.

“Like all-out war between the empire and kingdom.” Yeah, if someone was important enough, he could see it. “Alright, I understand the importance. But this kind of thing isn’t exactly my forte.” Church had plenty of shadows or emissaries for this kind of work.

“I called upon you because you are the only one I could entrust with this task.”

This was sounding worse and worse. “Why?”

“I wish you to make contact with Patricia von Arundel. The new queen-consort of the kingdom.”

Jeralt had to blink a few times before it registered. Little Patty had caught the eye of two rulers. What a girl. “Look, I get why you want me, but is this really such a good idea? This could damage relations with both territories.”

“You are the only one we can rely upon for this task,” said Rhea. You are familiar with her, as well as both Ionius and Lambert. No other knight or clergy could take your place on such a matter.”

He needed to cut back on training sessions if this is where it got him. “Then what?”

“Hopefully,” said Seteth, “we can keep this from expanding into international war.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence but I’m not an ambassador.”  _ Church shouldn’t be meddling like this. _ “Do you want me to invite her to Garreg Mach or something?”

“The matter is more complex than just Patricia. Her brother, Lord Arundel, has also accompanied her. Which makes his territory on the border between the two nations all the more pivotal. We hope your past familiarity can illuminate the cause of this action, and prevent any rashness.”

Great, Volkhard too? His preaching for the Church was too intense for his liking. “Running from a husband with a half-dozen other paramours sounds right to me. Especially after that exile business. Throw on a coup and it’s a surprise more people haven’t left.” And Arundel’s lands remaining with the empire threw another mystery unto the pile too. 

“Oh?” said Rhea. “You rarely keep track of your students that far from Garreg Mach. It seems I was right to send for you.”

Him and his big mouth. “I still think this is a mistake. What if the kingdom sees this as an overreach of authority? Or the empire? The Western Church is saber-rattling pretty bad these days too.” Bishop Borgio (or whatever his name was) spent enough time attacking Central’s authority. This was just another log on his fire. Especially with Arundel territory right there.

“The Western Church does not concern me. They are only a small part of the whole of Fódlan.”

That kind of dismissal was one of the Western Church’s rallying calls. He damn well didn’t like the Church operating like this. He’d gotten used to it. But damn he didn’t like it. Maybe it was finally time to part ways. If only he had that courage twelve years ago. “Fine, I’ll go. But on the condition no knights accompany me, only Byleth.”

“Your son will be perfectly safe here, I assure you, Jeralt,” she swiftly replied. That twitch, that slight twitch of her eyes. She didn’t want Byleth out of her reach. She never did. Every little trip outside had that same twitch. Fishing, dancing, sword fighting. Everything was coddled by paranoia.

Seteth’s jaw went wide at the thought. “That is reckless and irresponsible.” 

“If I show up with an army things will look suspicious, people won’t talk. If I just play it like a family vacation,  _ maybe _ they’ll trust me.”  _ Maybe. _

“And if it does not?” said Rhea, clasping her hands in prayer. “I… I know how losing her made you feel. I could not bear to see your sorrow return.”

He’d enough sorrow for three lifetimes. Friends and family dying around him. Had enough never seeing his kid smile. “My son has never taken a trip outside the mountains, you know. Never dealt with peers, never seen plains, or rivers or the ocean. I won’t be the kind of father who lets his kid grow up completely isolated from the world. No matter how safe it makes them. That only does more harm in the long run.”

“I realize accommodations have not been… ideal. And I would agree you need time outside of Garreg Mach, but during this? No, Jeralt. I must forbid it.”

“Rhea…” Seteth set his eyes on the archbishop. “I… would agree with Jeralt.”

“What?” Her eyes went wide. Her hands tensed. She stiffened.

Not something he’d expected. Maybe he was wrong about the guy. Not many were willing to stand up to Rhea.

“What Jeralt says makes sense. It would be more suspicious for him to lead an entourage of knights. More dangerous even. But a significant number of the kingdom’s nobility have trained with him personally and now have children of their own. Some even trained by his hand. They would be much more receptacle to a parent and teacher than a captain of the knights.”

“I still cannot condone such a risk.”

Jeralt shook his head. “The only risk would be if they are planning something, and if they are, they won’t meet with me in the first place. If it looks dangerous, we’ll leave. You have my word.”

Rhea narrowed her eyes. She could overrule him completely. She’d worked hard to make her peace. Had no qualms about sacrifice. Whatever gave her such pause was more worrisome than the empire and kingdom going to war.

“Very well,” she relented. Everyone breathing a sigh of relief. “I know you, more than any other, will make sure your child is protected.”

“You have my word.”

“Very good,” said Seteth. “I will begin drawing formal correspondence at once to ease you into relations. I would suggest approaching Lord Arundel first, but the choice is yours.”

“I’ll see what the situation is like when I get there before I decide. Though I think I’ll need a declaration for a local church branch, in case I need any support.” Seemed unlikely, but this wasn’t a danger to brush off lightly.

“Certainly, I’ll add it in. Anyplace specific?”

“The church on Ward Street, if you would.”

“Very well.”

Looked like things were over. “Right. I’ll go grab my kid and we’ll head out at dawn tomorrow. Oh, and I’ll get everything else in order on my end too. Can’t leave the Knights without a replacement captain.”

“Then you are dismissed.”

“Goddess protect you. The both of you.” Rhea clasped her hands in prayer.

Jeralt departed after a stiff bow. Back outside the wind hit him with a chilly breeze on dried skin. Students and knights off duty back in regular clothing with their daily tasks done. Black Eagles mingled with Blue Lions and Golden Deer. The sun slowly starting to dusk on the monastery.

Jeralt reached the half-empty dining hall, looking for his son. And there, standing next to Alois and his son were a pair of all-too-familiar students. 

A blonde girl, her uniform jacket’s sleeves rolled up to her biceps, jacket half open despite the weather. Skin shades darker than nearly every other noble in Fódlan. Gabbing away about something or other with an incredible wildness to her motions. But despite it all, she also leaned back, looking relaxed and confident.

The boy was her stark opposite, back fully straight. Thin, uniform with not a button out of place and his dark blue hair carefully tied behind him. Not getting a word in edgewise over the two going full loud.

The blonde girl swung around, a big fat grin on her face. “There you are, Instructor!”

“What do you want, Cassandra?” he said, and walked up to the little group.

Her eyes lit up (still bluest he’d ever seen). “Same thing I always want.”

“You already train twice as hard as anyone else. Three’s gonna hurt more than help.”

“I’m not gonna get a cool nickname like ‘Shield of Faerghus’ or ‘Blade Breaker’ by training the normal amount.”

“The dead already have a nickname, it’s ‘stupid’.” Jeralt added in a glare. 

Cassandra just laughed. “I’ll be fine once I get my hands on Thunderbrand.”

“A Hero’s Relic isn’t gonna break an army in the hands of a fool.”

“Exactly why I need to keep training.”

It was like arguing with a wall. And then the wall behind that. “Well, I can’t help you today. Probably for a while. I’ve got a new mission to attend to.”

“A mission? Sounds like perfect training to me. I’ll go get permission from Professor Hanneman.”

“Ha!” Alois spoke up. “I’ll pack my bags and round up a team. Alois and Jeralt on the march again. Those evildoers won’t know what hit them!”

_ Honestly. _ “This isn’t anything simple like a bandit hunt.”

“All the more reason you need the best the knights can provide.”

“Your best student too,” Cassandra said.

“I am taking my best student. Byleth and I are going by ourselves.”

Cassandra’s slumped halfway to the floor on the news. “I can’t be worse than a twelve-year-old.”

“Think about how I feel,” Alois said. “Really, Captain, if this is so important why are you taking your kid along?”

Byleth just looked up completely nonplussed by it. “Don’t let it slip, but we’re just going on a little father-son bonding to the kingdom. Rh—Lady Rhea thought we needed it.”

“The kingdom?” Christophe finally spoke up. Cassandra and Alois’s boisterous nature usually left the good-hearted kid behind. “Make sure to wrap yourself appropriately. Pegasus Moon in the kingdom claims a lot of lives even in the major cities.”

_ More even. _ “I’ve been around the kingdom enough times to understand the cold.”

“Ease up, Christophe.” Cassandra threw her arm around her friend. “Not like a little cold’s gonna take down Jeralt the Blade Breaker.” Alois shifted his weight at the mention.

“Cold can be a deadlier enemy than any swordsmen. I thought someone from the kingdom would understand that better than me.”

“Not our fault we live in the south.”

Jeralt shook his head. “We’ve gotten off track here. We’ll be leaving tomorrow so I need to get my affairs in order. That means I shouldn't be chatting around with all of you.”

Alois said, “I’m sure the actual combat instructor will be glad to get his grounds back.”

Not his fault everyone wanted his lessons. “And get that other guy, ah, what was his name?” Jeralt scratched the back of his head at it eluding him.

“Leo?”

“Yeah, him. He can take over my captain duties while I’m gone.”

“Are you sure? I know he’s experienced and all—”

“Old, you means he’s old.” Still maybe a third Jeralt’s age. “Let him get his service in while he can. You’ll have your chance at the chair eventually.”

“I could never replace you, Captain.”

“Bah, leaders not sitting in one place ‘til death is a good thing.”

“Better not say that to King Lambert,” Cassandra added with a laugh.

He hadn’t let it slip. Was that a guess? “If I meet the king where I’m going something’s gone really wrong.”

“Wasn’t one of your lessons something about always being prepared?”

“Why do you only care about what I say when you can and turn it back on me?”

“Hey, I only learn what’s useful.”

The two of them shared a chuckle. “Try and give the actual instructor a chance.”

Cassandra flexed. “No promises.”

Jeralt looked at Christophe. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless.”

“No promises.”

Jeralt smirked at him. “You two are nearly as big pains as your parents.”

“I’m twice the pain he ever was,” Cassandra boasted.

“Sure you are. Until tomorrow. Since we all know you’re gonna see me off.” Course, he smiled at the thought.

“If you’re heading in the direction, stop by Castle Gaspard and tell my father hello.”

“Unlikely, but thanks for the invitation.” Jerlated looked down at Byleth, who was still utterly unconcerned with the new events. “Come on, Son, we’ve got a lot of packing to do.”

“OK.”

The two of them spent the rest of the evening packing. Weapons, booze, food, water, his diary, money, the ring. Getting some new armor was pretty difficult too. Mostly everything the Church had was in white, so he put together an ensemble of parts from various sets that clashed horribly. Still, no one would confuse him for a Knight of Seiros with a giant orange sweater over chainmail. 

Byleth picked out a mishmash of clothing that somehow clashed even worse. So Jeralt stuck him with an oversized black coat and thick sets of black shirts and pants. The color would make sure he’d stick out in the snow in case they were ever separated. And the coat’s size would make it hard for him to move in fights. Not that it was likely but… if any other kid tried something on Byleth they weren’t gonna last long. They’d need any advantage they could get.

Eventually the letters from Seteth arrived. Jeralt confirmed their contents before sealing them in proper envelopes. He made sure the stables and his horses were readied and prepared a half-assed transfer of power with sloppy lesson plans with his replacements. Didn’t need to step on too many toes.

Father and Son set out to sleep and set out in the morning. But they had one important step to make first before leaving.

The two of them arrived in front of Marigold’s gravestone in the monastery’s cemetery.. The name worn away, somehow. Maybe even intentionally. But this wasn’t the place for paranoia. They dipped into prayer, even without any specific.

“She loved you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Do you love her?”

“I… don’t know.”

“I hope one day you do.”

Byleth just nodded.

Jeralt put a hand on his son’s should. This was one of the few things they could relate about. His own parents were a long-forgotten dream. Like so many others across the years. Would he be burying his son alongside his wife? and lose both their names to the flow of time? Or would some fool errand like this send him first?

He shook his head. Those thoughts never went anywhere good. “Let’s go.”

Thankfully only fifty people saw them off in the morning. Alois, of course. Cassandra and Cristhope. Professor Hanneman too. Seth and Cain and Abel. Even old Tomas the librarian for some reason. Plenty of waves good-bye. And he waved back at their ridiculousness. 

But Byleth never waved back.

So down the mountain slopes, passing through clear roads and snow piles pushed aside they headed north, towards the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.

“The sleeves on this coat are too long,” Byleth said.

“You’ll grow into it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe not the direction some expected, but I hope tantalizing all the same.
> 
> I've got four "arcs" planned before when Three Houses proper begins. It's gonna be changing things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt and Byleth brave the winter of Faerghus to reach the Kingdom Capital. It doesn’t take long for Jeralt to confront Volkhard and Lambert about the exiled royal family.

**Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1171**

A creak in the floorboards woke Jeralt and he erupted from bed lance in hand and aimed at—

His son.

The bright moonlight flowing through the window illuminated a son who simply stared impassively at his near death.

Jeralt relaxed his lance with a breath of relief. “What are you doing up?”

“I was dreaming.”

“The war or the girl?”

“The girl.”

Eight years or more dreaming of some war or some girl on a throne. Neither with any real details. “Maybe you’ll find someone like her in the Kingdom.” Byleth slowly nodded. “Is it still snowing?”

“Yes.”

Lousy blizzard sent them galloping for shelter in old Remire Village before they even hit Kingdom territory. If it was this bad in the Empire, the Kingdom would be a white blanket. “It might delay our travel plans. Still, try and get some sleep.” He put his lance back in position and sat back down.

“Why did we leave?”

Why was he asking this now? “We—I have a very important mission to undertake in the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.”

“Will it be dangerous?”

“It shouldn’t be.” _ Still... _ “What do you do when you encounter danger?”

“I run, hide or get help.”

“If you can’t?”

“Defend myself. Do anything.”

“And…?”

“By hurting.”

Jeralt nodded at his son’s answers and patted down the mattress. Byleth came over and sat down and Jeralt pulled him into a hug. “I won’t lie and say there won’t be any danger. But I will do everything in my power to protect you.” 

“You’re strong. It’ll be fine.”

Jeralt wished he had that kind of confidence. “Yeah. Anyway…” Jeralt pulled open a nearby rucksack and took out a small dagger. “Here.” 

Byleth took the gift and looked it over before looking back up. “Why?”

“There’s an old kingdom saying about daggers. It means, ‘to cut your own future’.” _ Or something like that. _

Byleth glanced down at the blue-handled gift. “What does that mean?”

“One day, you’ll make choices of your own. To make your own path. Not mine, or Rhea’s or the church’s.”

“No rules?”

“Your own rules. Or someone else you trust. Don’t let anyone take your future from you.”

Byleth drew the little dagger out. A small reflection on moonlit night. “Thank you.”

“OK, that’s enough night chat. We’re gonna have a hard ride tomorrow so you really need your sleep.”

This time Byleth actually complied and slipped off into the other bed in the small room. Before long, Jeralt drifted off to his light sleep.

Next thing he heard was a scratching noise against wood. Right out of bed, lance in hand aimed at—Byleth again, now fully visible in daylight. His son was on the floor with the knife and… cutting his coat? Two long gashes were opened in the upper sleeves.

Jeralt lowered his lance. “I… what are you doing?” 

“The sleeves were too long.” Not a flinch at the lance again.

_ Of all the _—“Why didn’t you just cut them shorter?”

Byleth looked down at his tattered coat. “Oh, huh.”

“We’ll find a seamstress to get those sewed up later, then.”

Byleth stood up, put his coat on, and stuck his arms through the holes he made. “I like this better.” The lower sleeves flapped behind him as he moved.

Jeralt burst out laughing and couldn’t cover his mouth fast enough. It was so utterly childish and beautiful to see his kid being a kid. “OK then, we’ll get you a thicker shirt then so you don’t freeze.” It was nice to see some random destruction from the kid for a change.

* * *

The blizzard never broke, forcing them to dredge the snapping cold and face the chance of illness on the way north. But Remire wasn’t equipped to handle horses, and they couldn’t let them die out. A few lodges along the way had some proper accommodations for the animals, even if they were far from ideal.

It was a fool’s dream for the Kingdom to declare war in weather such as this. But sometimes stupid worked. Thankfully sickness skipped the both of them and their horses on the journey north and the roads near Fhirdiad were almost clear. Only a foot of snow instead of a knee-high.

It took most of Pegasus Moon for the two of them to actually reach the kingdom’s capital of Fhirdiad. The city of stone retained the chill entombed in his ancient memories, but these days the townsfolk were shoveling more snow than corpses. Disease had plagued the northern country so long it was a miracle it still existed in any form. Nobody they passed on the streets looked happy, but that was generally better than dead.

Only a light snowfall accompanied them as they made their way to Ward Street and settled into a local inn. It was a good deal more illustrious than the emergency shelter they’d taken in Remire and the other lodgings along the way. Their quarters alone were probably half the size of Remire’s inn and their horses had actual furnished stables instead of a ramshackle outbuilding.

That wealth extended to the rest of the building too. The innkeeper declaring them lucky to get a room at all. In the bar, or dining hall or main hall were merchants in fine clothes, modestly wealthy nobles and even a few visiting soldiers. Jeralt spared a few moments to pick up on chatter which revealed nothing new (complaints against king and country were never new). But that lack of something new was important of itself. A new queen should be a big deal.

Church intelligence wouldn’t get something like that wrong. Which meant it was being kept quiet intentionally and any foreknowledge he showed would be even more suspicious.

So he’d cut out all subterfuge entirely and just go straight at it.

After he learned where to go first.

Which meant contacting the local church well ahead of plans.

He checked back in with Byleth to tell him he was stepping out for a bit, and Jeralt headed down the still snowing Ward Street. It didn’t take long to reach the old church, which had eroded with time more than Jeralt had. The stonework was crumbling in parts, patched in others. The statues of famous holy men and women were chipped and damaged, one of them was even missing its hand. The front doors had lost a handle among scratch marks. Place wasn’t doing well, despite its position.

Made it perfect for shadow work though.

Jeralt headed inside, wiped off his boots, and checked around the vestibule. No one came to greet him in the low candlelight so he went deeper. A few visitors were standing or sitting in prayer, and a handful of monks were attending the grounds. Some of the stained glass up above and been replaced with clear panes.

One of the monks, a grayed, bearded fellow with thick robes came up to him ahead of any of the younger staff. “We weren’t expecting visitors today, while the silver snow fell.”

That was the pass code from Seteth’s letter. This cloak and dagger nonsense just wasn’t for him. “Can’t wait for silver skies to return.”

“Most would prefer blue skies and golden sun.”

“I’ve always preferred silver, myself.”

“Greetings, Sir. If you would?” The monk led them to a secluded corner. 

“What do you have for me?”

The monk pulled out a burlap bundle. “Here is the location of all relevant parties and their adobes.” Jeralt took the information packet and slipped it into his coat. “Brother and Sister reside in separate estates, neither have been seen visiting the other building. However, the husband has been seen at both locations.”

Odd. Why was (presumably) Volkhard being kept out of the castle? Why weren’t they meeting? The more layers this had the worse it got. “I’ll make an approach as soon as possible. I’ll be back the night I do.”

“I hope all goes well. Goddess protect you.”

Jeralt left after a nod. Back into the cold, then back into the warmth of the inn and warmth of family. Byleth was practicing dagger thrusts by the time Jeralt returned. “Good, you gotta get under armor with a dagger.” Byleth nodded and continued.

Jeralt leaned against the wall (the last thing he wanted was a wet bed) and opened up the report. It mostly explained in detail what he knew in broad strokes. Their arrival date. A list of servants by name and those who had relevant family back in the empire. A few were marked out as being particularly devout. But nothing as to how any of this was gathered. For the good, of course.

A few pages in was the location of both Patricia and Volkhard. To no surprise, Patricia was in Fhirdiad Castle. Practically imprisoned, it seemed. There’d been no public appearances of her whatsoever. Coupled with the earlier lack of rumor mongering it made Jeralt wonder if she was here at all.

Her brother’s on the other hand seemed to be an open secret among the elite. He, along with his servants from the Empire, were quartered within Grand Duke Rufus’s villa. The king’s older brother couldn’t have been happy about that. Most Kingdom nobles stayed in their territory, so it was more of a guest estate than anything, but it was still another source of division between brothers. The grand duke had been passed over for the throne because he didn’t have a Crest and his younger brother did. Every year there wasn’t a civil war surprised Jeralt.

Directions to the estate were laid out in the papers, though a building that important would have been easy to spot anyway. Jeralt memorized what he needed then ignited the papers and let them all burn to ash. No sense taking any risk on that.

“I’m gonna be heading out again,” he said to Byleth, who’d switched to stabs. “I should be back before it gets dark, but just in case I’ve left plenty of money in case you need anything. Remember what I taught you.”

“Always.” His motions did not even budge.

Jeralt left again, getting an earful from inn staff about tracking water everywhere, and went back outside. Snow was still falling. People were still shoveling. Small wonder Loog could stop the Imperial army with weather this constantly bad. Bigger wonder why anyone settled here in the first place.

His walk should have been occupied with making a convincing story for why he was meeting with Imperial royalty in exile. But Rhea sent him knowing full well that was a fool’s errand. He’d do what he did best. 

The estate Volkhard was occupying was practically a fortress. It had castle walls, actual towers, both stocked full with archers, and was patrolled by at least fifty knights. Elites too, from the shine of their kit . Another seven were on guard duty at the gate, and a hundred more could have fit inside the castle building.

Jeralt walked up, introduced himself and handed over one of Seteth’s letters. “Get this to His Lordship right away.”

The knights exchanged excited chatter before sending one of their number off to deliver it.

“So,” one of the remaining said, “you’re Jeralt the Blade Breaker.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You defeated my brother.”

“And my sister.”

“My brother and sister.”

“Everyone in my family but me.”

“I still feel sore from where you hit me.”

This was turning out to be a really bad idea. “Uh… yeah…” That was the reality of fighting for over a hundred years. If he didn’t have a kid he’d probably be rotated into the holy knights by now.

The stifling silence was thankfully interrupted by the messenger quickly returning “His Lordship has agreed to an immediate meeting,” he said. “What of the child following you?”

_ Don’t tell me… _ Jeralt turned around to see his kid trailing in his wake completely against orders. _ Good grief. _ That was the price for letting his mind wander on the way over. He knelt down into the snow. “What did I say?”

“To cut my own path.”

Not the best time for a wild youth. Jeralt stood back up and said, “Let me escort him back before I head inside.”

“His Lordship is already expecting other visitors. Your invitation has already put a strain on his schedule.”

_ Doubtful. _ “Fine, then make arrangements for him to stay inside for the duration.” Any attempt to use Byleth against him would be brazen to the point of suicide. “I’m sure there’s some servants’ kids to play with.”

“Then, please, relinquish your weapons.”

“Right, right.” Jeralt handed over his lance, his javelin, his hidden daggers and spare sword.

“And your son?”

“Huh?”_ Oh, right, the dagger _. “I just gave that to him for his birthday.”

“It’s still a weapon, Sir.”

“He’s twelve. Are the brave knights of Faerghus scared of a twelve-year-old?”

“He is the Blade Breaker’s son…” That knight earned seven hard glares and he retreated back three steps.

“It’s not in his hands that weapon is dangerous. What if one of the other children takes it?”

They couldn’t, but that was at least a point. “Fine.” He was saying that an awful lot these days. Byleth unhitched the dagger and handed it over. “Now that the scary child is disarmed, I want to see Volkhard.” To hell with hiding his name.

“Right this way, Sir.”

Steeping inside was practically a warm bath. Both from the heat and all the snow melting soaking him wet. A pair of maid servants in blue already had towels, and one of them led Byleth off, with permission. After getting half dry, Jeralt was led down the lavishly furnished corridors, up three flights of circular stairs, down another corridor containing paintings and statues and art that probably had more money put into it than some peasant villages, and finally to a door carved from Imperial oak and latched with gold.

And the kingdom was a frugal country.

The maid servant made the introductions and Jeralt stepped inside, the maid closing the door behind him. The heat went up again, sweat now starting to drop from Jeralt’s brow. Sitting in a chair next to the fireplace and flanked by full bookcases was Volkhard von Arundel in the flesh. 

Hair, stark black reaching to his shoulders, impeccably maintained. Beard and goatee a perfect match. His shoulders had gotten a good deal broader since they last met. Those piercing purple eyes not even feigning surprise. He rose, thick beige robes shifting and ruby earring dangling. “My, my, I was shocked when I heard the news but it’s true. Jeralt Eisner himself.” In stark contrast to his appearance, his voice was as warm as the room.

‘Volkhard,” Jeralt said. “Interesting place to find you in.”

“But not surprising, I’d wager.”

He scoffed. “No.”

Volkhard smiled a little. “After the drudgery that was the empire’s politics a little bluntness is refreshing, really.”

_ Sure it is. _ “So, then let’s get down to blunt. Why are you here?” Jeralt took a few more steps into the room.

“Certainly an important question, but one better off asked with our next guest present.”

_ Great. Patricia? _ The door opened again and in came King Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, armored neck to toe. “Is that, Jeralt Eisner? My word you look the same as you did on my graduation! Looks like living close to the goddess has helped preserve your youth.”

“And it looks like you’re finally grown-up enough to get a decent beard going,” Jeralt replied. The man’s blonde hair was exquisite. And more importantly utterly dry. “Though, my back would disagree with the whole youth thing.”

Lambert chuckled. “Certainly the only way you’d ever get injured.”

“You’d be surprised these days. Cassandra Charon’s trying to send me to the floor.”

“Spirited girl, isn’t she? Has she succeeded?”

“Not yet.”

“You used to say the same to me, remember? Didn’t make it before graduation though.”

“I’m sure Areadbhar would tip the scales these days.”

“Please, if I need to use a Hero’s Relic in a spar the loss is already mine.”

“You never know. Maybe the years have been kinder to you than I.”

“Hardly. Most of the training I get these days is only because I head out fully armored.” _ That explained that. _ “Between government affairs, military affairs, civil affairs, and family affairs, I've little time for personal affairs.”

“And I take it you’re here for family affairs?”

“Heard, haven’t you? Well, I suppose reminiscing has taken up enough time.” Lambert put on a weak looking smile. “Your familiarity comes as quite a surprise considering only a handful are supposed to know.” His blue eyes flickered over to Volkhard for a moment before refocusing on Jeralt.

“It would seem my gold to the church has funded quite the excellent spy ring,” Volkhard said. “Rather peculiar they didn’t send someone more… eloquent.”

“That’s what I said.” Jeralt put a palm on his head. Whoever leaked was likely to get a trip to the dungeon. “But what Rhea wants, Rhea gets. So, unless you want me hanging around for a few months disrupting your plans, I think we should get the details out in the open.”

“Enlighten us to what you do know.”

“A group of powerful and important Imperial nobles got scared the emperor was gonna take away their power, so they launch a soft coup. Which was a raging success. In the confusion, a border noble and his sister, who just so happened to be one of the emperor’s consorts, flee to the nearby kingdom. There, said sister just so happens to get married to the king. Some would call that mighty suspicious.”

“I almost feel insulted by the accusation I couldn’t find a wife on my own,” Lambert said, with a surprising smile. “But, I fully understand your concern, my old teacher.”

“As unpleasant as I find this cold of Faerghus,” said Volkhard, “dealing with Aegir and his ilk turned my stomach even worse.”

“And yet they didn’t rescind your land rights despite that,” said Jeralt.

“Replace the lord of a critical border territory right after a coup? That would invite rebellion and instability they couldn’t afford. Aegir is many foul things but he’s a political animal at its deadliest. If he started stripping lands and titles for petty slights he’d have open rebellion for doing the same things he rebelled against Ionius for.”

That wasn’t anything close to petty, but it did have some sense to it.

“Let me assure you, I’ve no intention of instigating a war,” said Lambert. 

Jeralt had to fight off a glare. “Wouldn’t surprise me after Sreng.”

Not a frown or furrowed brow at the accusation. “I’m sure you’re well aware of how bitter the conflict with Sreng has been. I would not have pursued conquest had they not returned so many of my envoys sans their heads. I made my choice. A quick, decisive campaign rather than continuing a long, fruitless war.” He’d assured himself of that a thousand times.

That kind of thinking could be debated until the goddess returned without anyone budging. So he’d just ignore that. “Church didn’t do anything to stop you so I’ve no right to judge.” Jeralt crossed his arms. “But would Aegir see it like that?”

“Let me dispel any thoughts regarding my loyalty to the Aegir’s Empire. He and his cohorts would not dare make a move until his power is consolidated utterly. Even amongst their circle Vestra is still looked upon with suspicion despite betraying the emperor for Aegir. Bergliz, for all his successes during the coup, still has internal affairs of his own to deal with. Hevring, meanwhile, has little care beyond management of his ministry but frequently clashes with the others over finances, and Gerth offered only token support so that it was not harmed in the power transfer. The only member of this cabal to be concerned with is Varley. The man is little more than a rabid dog attempting to bite off as much power off as he can. Beacause he has little power to actually wield.”

Varley… Varley… He was religious affairs, right? Not a surprise, thinking about it. The Southern Church was nothing more than a memory for most these days. “I’m surprised you’re being this forthright with me.” Meant he was trying to hide something. But what?

“I’ve no desire to spare quarter for men who have wronged my family.”

“That’s what people are concerned with.”

“I admit,” said Lambert, “the circumstances are strange. But I see little to gain in war and much more to lose.”

“I dunno, if the nobles are as unsteady as Volkhard claims it wouldn’t be difficult to take a big chunk of the Empire for yourself.”

“Conquest for its own sake benefits nobody.”

“Plenty of good farmland. It may not be Gronder, but Nuevelle’s still richer than everywhere around here save Tailtean and Itha.”

“And where would we get the farmers for so much land after we run off the imperials? Better to simply buy imports during shortages. Even should we have the populace, that would only lead to an enormous border with the empire. One that benefits their army more than ours.”

“Go far enough south and you can keep your flanks secure with the sea and Oghma Mountains. Force them into a narrow choke.”

“And leave our backs exposed to the Imperial Navy.”

“Not with Nuvelle taken out.”

“Aye, but then they’ll shift the eastern fleet over to compensate, and our ships would lose in an open engagement.”

“That’s why you get help from Brigid. They’ve got three wars to get revenge upon.”

“Not with Brigid a Dagdan puppet,” said Volkhard. “Gerth may try, but even he can’t dislodge their grip. And they’ve no reason to believe the Kingdom after years of neglecting their plight.”

“You know, your answers sure are quick for someone with no intention of war…”

Lambert chuckled. “You’re not the first to suggest leveraging my new family for expansion. Nor the last, I suspect. Though certainly none were as bursque as you.”

“I have my job. Just as you have yours.”

“No, it’s… refreshing, to be honest. Many are advocating for expansion. My brother and Baron Kleimen among them. For the greater good they say. To call it the blatant power grabbing such a move would be is... most welcome.” The man had steel in his eyes as he spoke.

“You’ve become a good king, Lambert.”

“Good enough to let a “your majesty” slide,” he smirked. “Does this end your investigation?” A frown already forming.

Jeralt had to ask it anyway. “Not until I have a word with Patricia.”

“She is ill at the moment. But when her health recovers I will send for you post-haste.” So smooth. A practiced smooth. Not the first time he’d told that lie.

“What from?”

“This ill-blasted weather,” spat Volkhard. “She cannot even leave the castle without her health failing.”

Patricia was healthy as healthy got. And no chance the castle was any colder than the villa. “Well, until I hear from her personally, I’ll be sticking around. Catching up with all my old students.” Learning just why Brother wasn’t visiting Sister.

“How unfortunate. I had hoped to accommodate somewhere more temperament soon, but it seems I should remain in Fhirdiad until your curiosity is fully sated.”

“It could take many months before she recovers,” said Lambert. Months to get their story straight, but he had little choice. “Surely the Captain of the Knights of Seiros has more important undertakings to pursue?”

“Stopping a war is exactly what the Captain of the Knights of Seiros should be doing. Besides, I could certainly use some relaxation myself,” said Jeralt. “It’s been a few years since I’ve gone ice fishing. And it’s about time the brats at the monastery learned to live without me.”

“Brats, eh?” Lambert smirked. “I’ll make sure the castle guard are aware of the possibility of a visit then. Ah, and where will you be staying? Once Patricia recovers I’ll need to know where to send word. There are some vacancies nearby if you’ve not found a place to your liking.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine where I am. Place seemed decent, dunno where it is exactly though.” Jeralt shook his head. “But I’ll be bothering you plenty in person, don’t worry about it.”

“And here I was hoping to clear my schedule before departure too,” Volkhard said. 

“Then I’ll get out of your hair for now.”

“I wish I could offer a cure for illness so this matter could be settled sooner,” said Lambert. “But, until again. Goddess protect you, Jeralt.”

“You as well.”

Jeralt left, the servant making sure to escort him away before he could get any good eavesdropping in. He had to wait in the foyer until Byleth was retrieved, and the maid who looked quite flustered when they came back. The two of them retrieved their coats, and then retrieved their weaponry and walked back towards the Inn. Still snowing all the while. No one seemed to be following them.

“Did you make any little friends?” A longshot he never gave out hope of hitting.

“They called me creepy.”

Sadly not a surprise. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t there to stop them.”

“That hasn’t stopped them before.”

_ Dammit, Rhea, what did you do? _ “Did you say anything back?” If there was an incident he would have been informed, but that maid looked plenty embarrassed about something.

“No. She got real annoying when the boy couldn’t dance though.”

“Did you show them how it was done?”

“She stopped calling me creepy after that.”

Jeralt tousled his hair. “That’s my boy.” All those dance sessions were finally paying off. “Maybe you’ll see them again.” Maybe they’ll stop calling him creepy too.

“You’re not done?”

“No. Maybe not for a while.”

“OK.”

That blithe acceptance of everything. Not a blink when at lance point. No fuss when the dagger was taken. He made no noise following him in the crunching snow. Some days he was like a ghost. “Why did you follow me?”

“I wanted to see where you were going.”

“And why…?”

“In case I needed to reach you.”

That… was frankly more mature than Jeralt had been doing. “I could have been going somewhere dangerous.”

“Then why am I here?”

_ Because the monastery might be more dangerous. _ “Because you’re my son.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re gonna go ice fishing, one of these days. And pick out some nice flowers for your mother.”

“There was a flower shop on the way.”

Jeralt smiled a bit. Flowers were one of the few things Mother and Son bonded over. Even apart, as they were. “Well then we can scout it out so we know what we want to bring when we leave.”

* * *

Night had fallen and the snow outside had started to pile up. Jeralt dreaded trudging through the piling snow to report in so he’d taken to the bar and treated himself to some whisky. Long and hard, until well after everyone, including the bartender had left. Jeralt had put down enough money to buy out the entire stock if he felt like it. One of the benefits to staying with the church. 

A man entered the bar room. Familiar. The monk from the church, looking a good deal more common man than holy man. He looked around before pulling up a seat next to Jeralt.

Jeralt performed a thorough look around himself before asking, “You must have some dire portent to come to me rather than wait in this weather.”

“We’ve learned there’s a third member exiled with your targets,” his whisper was barely above breathing.

Besides the servants, at least. “This can’t be good.”

“It is Patricia’s daughter with Emperor Ionius.”

Great. Great, great, great. “You’re positive?” The most anyone could offer on the status of the Imperial heirs was speculation they were incarcerated in Enbarr.

“Yes, it is confirmed to be Edelgard von Hresvelg herself.”

Jeralt ignored his whisky and instead took a long swig from his hip flask. The harder burn keeping him nice and focused. “Now we have a problem.” A fleeing consort was one thing. But an actual heir to the throne? One political marriage and the kingdom could march right in under the banner of “freedom” and extort whatever they wanted from their own puppet emperor. 

No wonder his questions had been answered so promptly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt gets his meeting with Patricia. Things get steadily worse and Lambert's preparing to head to Duscur.

**Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1172**

_ Four months later… _

“Him!”

“What?!” 

The patrons grabbed the guy Jeralt pointed at and pinned him against a column despite his struggles. He shouted all manner of profanity while they balanced an apple on his head. “Now, just stay still.” The man didn’t and it took a dozen attempts before it was even slightly steady but it was good enough. Without even taking aim Jeralt hurled a throwing ax and split the fruit clean in half. Cheers erupted and booze flew free.

The man shrank away spitting curses. Another spy for the Western Church successfully dealt with.

Jeralt took a seat back near the bar as everyone congratulated him on his aiming skills. Everything was getting nice and lively but with the spy taken care he needed a break. He excused himself to everyone’s dismay and returned to his room.

Thankfully with his kid still inside.

“You’ve been drinking.” Said without missing a beat between sword strokes.

Sitting in the stink long enough he couldn’t smell it. “Ah, sorry. I’ll go air out outside then.”

“Leave the hand axes.”

“Hey, come on, I don’t miss.”

“They don’t know that.”

Right, a man reeking of booze with weapons on the open street. “OK, good point.” All the help with the academy students had matured him something fierce. Those moments of childhood so fleeting.

Jeralt set down his axes but kept a small dagger before he headed outside. There was a nice stone bench he could use until the wind smacked the booze out of him. Even in Garland Moon the Kingdom’s air had a bite to it. Through the snow had stopped, frost still caked the streets in the morning and slowly melted over the day. Falling into the gutters and sewers that had otherwise been buried under the mounds of white for months. And something he distinctly remembered being absent the last time he visited the city ages ago. Small wonder disease had been decimated with its breeding grounds destroyed.

People were out and about. Doing whatever it is their day needed. Boys and girls alike running around with garlands in their hair. A goodly number of soldiers passed by too. Too many, really. Security was important, but the patrols’ numbers were almost on par with regular citizenry. Something was happening. Something he needed to know.

Only way to learn was to head over to the villa or the castle, and with Western Church lurking around he couldn’t leave Byleth unattended. Why couldn’t they just leave them alone. But who was he to judge? He was doing the same thing.

Jeralt gave himself a slap to clear his head. Then went back to Byleth. “You still stink,” he said.

“Change of plans,” said Jeralt. “We need to go meet important people. It’ll be more dangerous if you stay here.”

“Right.”

“And take your training sword with you. No reason to slack off.”

Byleth nodded and grabbed his weapons while Jeralt did the same. Father and Son, on the move back to Volkhard’s residence. And rejected when they got there. Then to the castle they headed. The crowds getting thicker as they went. Byleth questioning the numbers and Jeralt answering as best he could.

The throng of soldiers on duty around the castle was immense. Maybe a few thousand between those on the walls, on the ground and those stationed on the roofs of nearby buildings. This wasn’t just an important meeting. It was _ the _ important meeting.

There was only one thing he could possibly believe would require this much security: A declaration of war.

Four months of run-arounds and worthless talks. Lying straight to his face and he half-believed them. He was the worst spy ever.

Wasn’t gonna let it stop him. He walked right up to one of the mobbed gate guards, introduced himself and handed over one of Seteth’s other letters. Like it was the last seven times the knight ran, and returned in quick order (after some banter with the other guards). They were disarmed and allowed inside where a maid servant greeted them.

A thin slip of a girl, her uniform was tied in the wrong spots and her red bangs were sticking out of her cap. “Ah, g-greetings, sir.” Maybe her first day on the job. “I-I’ve been instructed to inform you that the Lady Patiricia is ready to receive you.”

He was actually getting the meeting? Guess they finally worked out their story. “Well, then, lead the way.”

“R-right. Wh-what do you want to do about the boy?”

“He’ll be coming with me.”

“I’ve been told to not let anyone but you inside.”

Everyone was so paranoid about his kid. “Is there someplace he can wait away from other people?”

“Most of the castle is occupied at the moment.”

Not a chance. Even if all the living quarters were occupied there were plenty of other rooms. 

“Then the place that’s least occupied.”

“That would probably be the lower training grounds?”

Which was probably the worst place for him to be. “That won’t work.”

“You.” A woman’s sharp voice spooked the maid into a jump. “Why is it that I am traversing throughout this castle without a single valid escort.”

A woman, tall, with a form-fitting dress in deep crimson and a deep cut down the ample cleavage. A feather boa wrapped around her arms, barely covering bare skin in Kingdom weather. Her pink-tinged hair reaching said boa, and wrapped up with a gold circlet. Her face scrunched up, ruining her looks utterly with snobby noble contempt. “A-ah, I was doing as His Majesty ordered, Lady Cornelia.”

“And what business does Lambert have you on that should impede my necessities?” Her face somehow scowled even worse. Worse than Rhea on a bad day. “Nothing.”

“My apologies for the delay,” Jeralt interrupted to give the girl some protection. “I needed someone to make sure both my son and I were properly toured on the grounds.

“Lambert needs to keep the riff raff out of his castle. And hire more competent servants. Once you are done delivering this man you will return to me.”

“Y-yes, my lady.”

The woman stormed off without another word. “She seems important,” said Jeralt. No one that unpleasant could be anything but.

“Ah, that’s Lady Cornelia Arnim. She designed the city’s new sewage system.”

So she’s why there wasn’t a pile of corpses greeting them back in Pegasus Moon. “Can’t imagine how she got Lambert’s attention acting like that.”

“I’ve heard she used to be a sweet, gentle woman, until His Majesty made her the court mage.”

Power always changed people. “Ah, I shouldn’t be gossiping like this.” Didn’t want to get her in more trouble. “Look, my son should be fine in the training grounds as long as no one bothers him. So, just take us there, then me to Patiricia.”

“R-right.” Girl wasn’t gonna last long being this jumpy. Still, she had a spring in her step as she led him to a pair of doors with minimal security and Byleth headed in with a reminder to not aggravate anyone.

The halls were filled with sets or armor on stand and the walls decorated with swords and lances and all manner of weaponry. Not just display pieces or ceremonial armors. Many bore the cuts, and gashes of use. One set of armor even had its helmet completely caved in. Each step was a march in history of Faerghus knighthood.

“H-here we are.”

Four guards. Holy knights from the way their armor was shaded with gold. “We’ve been expecting you, Sir Jeralt.”

He nodded and the maid ran off to get yelled at by Cornelia again. The holy knight in lead knocked, got the reply and opened the room, which Jeralt entered.

Large room, bigger than some houses he’d seen. Dominated by a giant bed, a fireplace, plenty of high-quality kingdom swords on the walls. Three windows, filled bookcases, dressers aplenty. And sitting on a cushioned chair in the middle of all of it was Patricia von Arundel. Or was it Patricia Blaiddyd now? He’d never gotten the hang of names crossing the borders.

She put down her crochet on a nearby table and rose. Nearly eye level with him now, though maybe it was the heels she wore. Her light brown hair swayed down the back of her deep blue dress. She smiled. 

“It’s good to see you again, Patty—ah, wait, I suppose it’s Your Majesty, now?” Courtly manners were never his strong suit.

“I think Patricia would be a fine compromise.” Her smile went ear to ear. “It’s good to see you too, Jeralt. Come, come, sit down?”

“No, I’m good with standing, but please, take your seat. Lambert tells me your health doesn’t agree with the Kingdom’s weather.”

“Thank you.” She returned to her seat. “Yes, the cold here is something I do not think I will ever get used to.”

Even with a roaring fireplace. “You’ve done well for yourself, it seems,” he said, and walked closer to her. “I take it Lambert and Volkhard already told you why I’m here.”

“And that they’ve told you why I’m here. Repeatedly.”

“I’d prefer hearing it from your own lips, if at all possible.”

“I am here of my own will. Or as much will I am capable of.”

“Which means...”

“I wasn’t the one to exile myself from Enbarr.”

“I… hmmm, sorry doesn’t quite cut it.”

“That’s alright. We both know you’re not one for outbursts.”

“So, why go to the Kingdom, rather than the church?”

“The Empire would be less likely to request our return with the Kingdom.”

If Aegir was as clever as Volkhard credited him with he wouldn’t try and rile the faithful by pressuring Rhea. “Makes sense. Though, I can’t imagine you married to Lambert.”

“I am quite happy with Lambert, thank you.” But her smile finally dipped.

He glanced at the finery she was working on. A scarf, it seemed. “So, you have any little crochet dolls of him lying around? I still remember tripping all over those things after you met Ionius.”

“That was an indiscretion of my youth I’ll take you not to repeat.” She shook her head. “Really, Jeralt, is there a reason you’re trying to rile everyone up? Lambert’s already told me how abrasive you act at my brother’s residence.”

“I’m the same I ever was. You’ve all just gotten used to the court life.” 

She scoffed. “I think you’re underestimating how cutthroat royal politics are.”

“I wouldn’t be here if the threat didn’t exist.”

She locked eyes with a glare. “Then let me make this clear. I’ve no interest in returning to the Empire. Those peaceful days are long behind us. I am no longer a girl of the Black Eagle House, even if you’re still Captain of the Knights of Seiros. If anything, I feel quite insulted it took you this long to reconnect.” She tried to soften herself up. “Honestly, ‘best student’ I believe you called me?”

_ Probably drunk when I said that. _ “Well, I’ve got a new ‘best student’ to worry about. And keeping him out of trouble has been my last twelve years.” This close he could see how soft her hands had become. All the calluses developed from handling the lance long gone.

“Awfully long time to be a student.”

“Gotta teach my kid all I can.”

Her eyes lit up like a starry sky. “You’ve a child your own? Oh, how is he?”

“Oh, he’s a handful, in his own way. But he’s a good kid, deep down.” He fought a smile down, because the next question didn’t deserve one. “How is yours?”

The stars in her eyes fell like meteors. She took a hard breath and replied, “I have not seen my daughter in some time.” 

It didn’t sound like a lie. Was Edelgard with Volkhard? “And the crown prince?”

“Dimitri is a fine young lad. Perhaps Lambert would consent to a meeting? The boy is studying the lance and the best lancer in Fódlan would be a welcome teacher.”

“I’ll pass for now. If I’m not retired when he’s at the Officers Academy I’ll think about it.”

“I can’t imagine you retiring.”

“Life’s full of unbelievable things.”

His words seemed half like a slap across her face. “Ah, and the mother of the child?”

“We lost her in childbirth.”

“My apologies.”

_ I should be the one saying that. _ “You couldn’t have known.”

“I do wish there was more I could do.”

Here it comes. “I’ve been meaning to ask… Why are you being treated like this?”

Her eyes blinked too readily. “I am being treated as appropriate.”

“I mean, why hasn’t Lambert announced your union?”

“That is… In our best interests. The former queen-consort was much beloved and Lambert wishes to avoid upsetting people by marrying an Imperial woman.”

That, at least, he could believe. “I understand.” Best not to risk antagonizing her any further. “But you’re not here because of your interests.” Sticking his foot in his mouth.

“Leave.” Sharp enough to cut armor.

“Yeah, I should.” He turned towards the door, but looked back at her. “Thirteen years ago I had the chance to leave the church. But I chose to stay. Stay where it was safe for my kid. But in those thirteen years we’ve lived there he’s not smiled once. Every day part of me regrets not taking him away. When was the last time you saw your daughter smile, Patricia?”

“How dare you.” Her fire was a spark away from exploding. “How dare act like you know anything about me. About my daughter!” She leapt from her chair with her arms ready to strike. 

“Your hands are soft, Patricia. When was the last time you held a lance? Wore armor? Cast a spell?”

“People change, Jeralt. Or perhaps you’ve forgotten that seeing yourself in the mirror each day? We knew each other for one year over twenty years ago. The Patty you want isn’t here. She grew up. Grew up to be someone who calls guards instead of leveling a lance.”

Her legs were spaced apart, her hands were curled just enough to let a ;ance through and her body twisted sideways. Patty was still there. Somewhere. “Then I’ll be leaving before I say something worse, Your Majesty.”

“Good day, sir knight.”

His hands touched the brass knob. “Say the word. We’ll grab my son, your daughter and leave Faerghus.“ _ What the hell am I saying? _

“Leave.”

Her answer took a lifetime but came with no sharpness. No tension. Just a resigned melancholy.

“Good-bye, Patty.”

He left the room, ignored the guards doing their best to pretend they didn’t hear that argument, and headed down the hallway. Jeralt sighed and slapped himself upside the head. That was probably the second dumbest thing he’d done in his life. He’d just grab Byleth and head back to Garreg Mach. There was nothing else he could do after that disaster.

“Hey, hey, if it isn’t Jeralt the Blade Breaker!”

_ That voice… _ Jeralt turned around to face her, “Hello, Cassandra.” The Officers Academy uniform was a thing of the past, save the silver badge on her breastplate for graduates. Plate armor over the important areas, a half-cape around her left and skirt on her right. Colored in all shades of deep Kingdom blue.

“I believe you said ‘if I meet the king thing’s have gone really wrong’.”

He offered a shrug. “They have.”

“I’ll say. You skipped my graduation!”

He wasn’t quite in the mood to laugh but it sure was close. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Hey, I missed three months of training and finally getting my chance to beat you. Of course I’m mad. But we can fix one of those right now.”

“Yeah, I’m not in the mood for a duel.” Not after that colossal failure.

“Maybe I’ll go grab Byleth. Can’t imagine he’s getting any good fights in with you doing whatever this is supposed to be.”

“Stop picking on my kid, will you?”

“Not until you acknowledge I’m your best student.”

“Why are you being so competitive against a thirteen-year-old?”

“Hey, no matter his age he’s still the Blade Breaker’s son.”

“That’s no reason for… aww, forget it.”

“OK, OK, no fighting your kid. His heart wouldn’t be in it anyway.”

_ You don’t know the half of it. _ “I presume you followed your father here for whatever meeting Lambert is hosting?”

“Yeah, it’s something big. Everyone’s here. Charon, Gautier, Fraldarius, Rufus, Dominic, Galatea, Rowe, Gaspard and a whole bunch of minor nobles you’ve never heard of.”

_ Doubt that. _ “This is worse than I thought.” If Gwendal was accompanying Rowe things could get complicated.

“So, this was some sort of secret mission, all along?”

“I was just minding my business in town when all these soldiers came along so I went looking for answers.” Not a total lie.

“Uh, huh.” She shot him a knowing smirk.

“I was about to grab Byleth and leave.” But without his escort he wasn’t gonna get back too easy. “He’s supposed to be at the training grounds here and my escort got taken by someone else.”

“I can lead you to the closer one.”

“If you would.”

The two of them chatted about the unlively events at Garreg Mach during the walk. Though Cassandra kept embellishing them enough to seem lively. Alois was still attempting to grow a beard. There was some talk about one of the professors retiring too. Reo had taken his duties to gusto despite his age. Things seemed to be running fine without him.

Except Rhea was apparently getting constant reports about Jeralt’s status. So many that even students like Cassandra heard about it.

No chance he could vanish if she was keeping that close an eye on him.

The two of them arrived down an unfamiliar hall to a pair of large metal doors. The security twice as extreme as Patricia’s room. Dark knights with their pitch-black armor and glares from beneath their mask-like visors. “This area is off-limits.”

“Looks like my son isn’t here then.” This level of security was far beyond the previous door. Even if it’d suddenly changed he wouldn’t stay there.

“No way to know for sure unless we check it out.”

“This man’s son is not here, Lady Charon.”

“All we need to do is pop our heads in for ten seconds. It’ll be fine.”

“He’s. not. here.” The knight seemed ready to strike her down. And the others were ready to follow suit. Even he’d have difficulty against this many Kingdom elites.

“That is enough.” Yet another new voice broke in. A tall knight, a blue tabard covering chainmail, with burning orange hair and some decent lines on his face. “You are being rude to our guests. I am sorry, Cassandra, but this training ground is currently occupied,” the knight said. 

“Relax, Gustave. I just wanted to stop in and say hi since I’m here. Also, shouldn’t you be in with the king and everyone?” This was sure sounding like some half-baked plan of hers.

“Today’s session has expired. Regardless, this is not the time or place for a casual visit.”

“Come on, can you seriously not trust the Blade Breaker himself?”

“Ah! That would make you Jeralt Eisner, correct?” He begrudgingly answered yes. “So you’re the man who sharpened His Majesty’s spear! I’ve always wanted to thank you for that. After he returned from the Officers Academy his spear work put my own to shame” He put his hand forth. “Gustave Eddie Dominic at your service.”

Jeralt returned the handshake. “I take it you were his instructor beforehand?” Domingic was one of the Ten Elites. Must have gone through the Officers Academy at some point. Probably when Jeralt was in holy knight rotation. 

“Indeed. He was always determined to live up to Loog’s legacy and I helped him every day I could.”

Not the best time to talk of the king who broke free from the Empire. “He was one of the best I’d ever seen.”

“Where would I be on that list?” Cassandra asked.

“At the bottom if you keep pestering me like this.”

“Yeesh, something sure has you down.”

“May I ask what you two are doing here?” said Gustave.

“My son was going to be waiting for me at one of the training grounds, so Cassandra was showing me to them. This isn’t the door I remember from earlier.”

“Indeed, if your son is anywhere it’d be at the lower grounds. This location is currently occupied by a person of important standing. Which Cassandra should well know.”

She put her hands behind her head. “It’s not like we’re gonna try anything. I was wondering if Jeralt could give him some pointers.”

“I appreciate your concern, Cassandra, however I cannot overlook the security and etiquette breeches you intend to commit for this.”

“I’m not interested in whatever you want either,” Jeralt added. Probably an excuse for a duel.

“You really think someone from the church is gonna commit a crime, Gustave?”

“Such an act would be unthinkable,” he sharply replied. “But even in the face of the unthinkable I have to uphold my duty..”

She was being way too insistent on this. “She’s never gonna stop unless you let us in.” Well, she would, but this would be faster for everyone involved.

“I would be remiss in my duties if I gave into sheer stubbornness solely for my own well-being.”

“The castle guards have already removed my weaponry and there’s no need for me to get close to whomever’s inside.”

“That does not change my duty.”

_ Why am I arguing for this now? _ “You’re right. But whoever’s inside is gonna be entrusted to my care one day. I’ve already been entrusted with the prince, after all.”

“Your words are true, however...” The man was starting to turn downcast. “I suppose, in light of the past and future it would not be out of bounds for a quick look.”

“All right!” Cassandra yelled.

“Neither of you shall stand within the combat limits, however.”

“That’s fine by me.”

“Yeah.” He was getting completely off track now.

Gustave waved them inside. It was large. Bigger than the training grounds at the monastery entirely. Pillars racked with training weapons. A dome overhead letting in sunlight at the time but plenty of unlit torches everywhere should one wish to commit at night. Knights aplenty. None of them looking at the newcomers, but each was armed. Probably the most trusted knights in the Kingdom.

In the center of it all was a little boy, younger than Byleth from the height, was practicing thrusts with a wooden lance. The lance swung about with no concern for weight, but the boy hadn’t mastered the steps yet. He overextended on every thrust or left himself vulnerable to his sides. It was all massive blows, rather than control like a lance required.

“Hey, hey, look at that frail maiden go.” _ Hm? _

The lancer spun around, cheeks puffed out. “Cassandra!” he pouted. “I told you to stop calling me a girl!” He was parched with sweat even in the mild cold. He’d been at it a while.

“Relax, Dimitri.”

“Dimitri?” _ Oh boy. _ “Crown Prince Dimitri?” _ I really should have seen this coming. _

“Both of you do mind your manners,” said Gustave.

“Who are you?” Dimitri asked.

“I’m Jeralt, hi.”

“Oh! Father was talking about you! He said you’re very strong.”

“I bet…” This was the last thing he needed.

“He’s the strongest! The legend known throughout the ages as the Blade Breaker!”

“Wow!”

“Once you get into the Officers Academy he’ll probably be teaching you the lance too.”

“Ugh, I already told Patricia but I’ll probably be retired by then.”

“Who’s Patricia?”

“You know my stepmother?”

Ah, he stepped in the dung now. Cassandra looked between the two of them and Gustave. “That was something I wasn’t supposed to hear, wasn’t it?”

“It would be to everyone’s benefit if you forgot this, Cassandra.” Gustave’s voice took on a hard edge. “And if you remembered your place as a guest, Jeralt. I believe it’s time for you both to depart.”

“Right, right, hey,” Cassandra smirked and looked at him, “maybe a knock upside my head would help me forget.”

Jeralt had to shake his head at that. “You’re incorrigible. We should be leaving, anyway.”

“Whatever it takes to keep your silence.” 

“Getting the little prince here a view of his future would help.”

“I wanna see, I wanna see! Cassandra’s real strong too!”

He had no one but himself to blame. “Fine, Cassandra. Get some training weapons and I’ll give you a graduation present.”

“Oh yeah!” Gustave stepped forward to escort the young prince to the side while Cassandra ran to get training weapons.. She eagerly returned and pushed the wooden lance into his hands before running off and readying her wooden sword.

“I’m too busy for a full bout, so let’s keep this to one hit,” he said after following her to the combat square.

“One hit’s all I need.”

She was never short of confidence. “Gustave, would you mind calling?”

“Very well. To your positions.” Jeralt and Cassandra separated by about ten steps. He gripped the lance with both hands and bent forward. She grasped her sword with two, leveled it to her head and led with her left foot. “Begin!”

Cassandra wasted no time with dashing in. A fool might try and outspeed his lance but he’d beaten that lesson out of her plenty. Her movements were deliberate, and her foot touched within his reach specifically to let her dodge out if he tried anything.

He waited.

She took her moment and stepped in, clashing her sword into the side of his lance and setting herseful to swing upwards with another move. Jeralt stepped back, brought his lance low, under the sword tip and aimed for a sweep Cassandra leapt over the lance, her sword coming up, then coming down right at his head. Jeralt kept his momentum, spun around to avoid the slash and smacked her with the pommel of the lance.

“That’s enough!” Gustave shouted.

“Oh come on, I’ve been saving that move for months and you saw right through it.”

“That’s the kind of thing you bust out against armor knights, not agile infantry.”

“Took out Cristophe well enough.”

“He probably tried to block it, right?” She gave a “Yeah.” “Judging a killer blow like that is key. Without real battlefield practice you’ll try and protect yourself instead of going for the kill.”

“We’ve got plenty of practice you know.”

“Bandit hunting and peasant rebellions aren’t highly trained knights.”

“Got that right.” She laughed big and loud.

That attitude was gonna get her killed or near to it one day. “Are we done here?”

“Forgotten why we’re even here.”

“Very good,” said Gustave. “Now if you would please depart at once.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you could lose Cassandra!”

“That’s not something to be happy about, Prince,” she said.

“If you can beat Cassandra you’ve gotta be the strongest knight ever!”

Didn’t they just have this conversation? “That’s cute and all but I really need to find my son.”

“Make sure to bring him to the correct room this time, Cassandra,” Gustave told her.

“Will do.”

The two of them walked out—nearly colliding into that maid from earlier and Cristophe.

“There you are Jeralt!” Christophe shouted.

“What happened to Byleth?” he honed in on the only thing requiring this level of urgency.

“It’ll be faster if we show you, come on.”

The four of them ran down the hall, knights turning their heads but never stopping their progress. Back through the familiar doors he left his son at and to a much smaller training ground. This one exposed to the weather, maybe half the size but nearly as many people. Knights, of course, and children too. His son among them, flanked by two, while five well-dressed kids and just as many knights were across from him. The biggest boy among them shouting fierce.

A large boy, just undergoing the ascent to manhood. His hair a burning red that matched his face as he shouted nonsense. Another boy, a good few years his younger, but a mirror on hair color, cowered behind him, adding his own shouts at certain points.

Away from them was a third and fourth boy and a little blonde girl who looked on the verge of tears. Two boys also looked to be brothers as well from their matching hair color, the older seemed to be around Byleth’s age from his height and his head was adorned with a white garland crown. He shifted between a glare and examining Byleth while the younger seemed to avoid eye contact entirely.

“Alright, could someone tell me what’s going on here?”

“Who the hell are you?” the shouting boy turned his ire unto him.

“His father.”

“Raise your damn kid better!”

“What happened?”

The flatness rebuked the rage for a moment and after a hard breath he replied, “That brat attacked my brother!”

“No. He doesn’t do that.”

“Tell him Sylvain!”

The other red-head nearly fell over. But timidly walked forward and said, “I was just talking to one of the girls when he came up and started saying I was bothering her and then when I said I wasn’t he pushed me and Miklan came and pushed him then the servant screamed and ran then everyone started shouting and then knights came and you came.” The boy started to take in a lot of breaths after that.

“See! He's wrong!”

This was exactly the mess he knew could have happened. Damn Western Church. “Then we’ll be leaving now.”

“You think I’m letting you leave without demanding decency!?”

Ugh, using that big body of his to bully his juniors. Maybe a bit of skill behind it, too. Just looking for an excuse to hit someone. “That’s not a good idea.” Byleth had been beating Academy students for years; some brat using his size wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Just let them go at it,” said Cassandra. “Miklan’s stubborn.”

“Shut up Cassandra!”

“See?” She smirked at it.

_ Don’t use my son to smack him like you want to. _ “I came here to stop a fight, not start one.”

“Then let me be his opponent,” said the boy with flowers in his hair.

“This is my problem, Glenn!”

“I saw him first.”

“He hurt my brother!”

“Since when do you care?”

“You’re next after him!”

“Gladly.”

“Stop fighting!” the little girl said. “You’ll hurt the flowers.”

Cristophe leaned in and whispered, “I think it best you let Byleth defeat him. It’ll make this go quicker.”

“He doesn’t strike me as someone who lets anything go,” Jeralt whispered back.

“I don’t think he will, but at least it’ll give you an excuse to leave after.”

That was probably the least bad option. “Fine,” Jeralt said at the large boy, Miklan. “I call the start, I call the end. No blows to the head or nethers.”

“Like I’d need cheap tricks to beat him.”

That arrogance would get him killed one day. “He’ll use a sword; your weapon?”

Miklan flashed a smirk. “The lance.”

_ That won’t help. _ “OK, Son, you know what to do.”

“I do.”

The combat ring was cleared of non-combatants. The weapons were brought. Wooden sword against wooden lance, this time Jeralt supporting the former. The combatants drew up ten steps away.

“Begin!”

The older boy wasted no time trying to clobber the younger. Form abandoned in favor of wild swinging. Which Byleth effortlessly parried and blocked without losing a step despite their size difference. He’d overtaken bigger gaps already.

Unable to break through with reckless power, Miklan drew back and regained his footing. Byleth didn’t pursue, letting the older boy return to the offensive. Smart thrusts, aimed at feet or legs. But each thrust was an overreach, and Byleth slammed his sword hard. Miklan’s hands were shaking in shock after the eighth failure and his patience had died.

He drew back for a strong thrust and Byleth stepped in immediately. A sword thrust to the chest and a quick two hits to both his hands. The lance dropped as the boy stared at his sweltering hands between struggles for breath.

“This match is over,” Jeralt announced. “My son is the winner.”

The only one who bothered to make noise was Cassandra cheering for him. Byleth turned and headed for Jeralt and Miklan picked up his lance with a wince. He looked at his victorious opponent. A mad glare twisting on his face!

“Don’t!”—the stupid brat hurled the lance at Byleth! Every adult ran to stop it. None of them came close as the dull lance point hit his son and knocked him forward. Miklan ran, fury in eyes and fists as he swung at Byleth’s head.

In one fluid movement Byleth dodged the punch, spun, and swept Miklan’s legs out with his sword. The older boy crashed on his back and Byleth rounded and brought his sword down on his neck. Miklan couldn’t even attempt to flee. Trembling, eyes unforced and wide, doing his best not to swallow. The first time the boy had ever experienced the end of his life.

Byleth’s face was stone as ever.

“G-get off my brother!” he shouted and grabbed a nearby training sword and hurled it. 

Jeralt smacked it out of the air. “That’s enough!” he yelled and snapped everyone unto him. “Come on, Son, that’s enough.”

“Get this freak away from me!”

The knights had surrounded them. Cassandra and Cristhope standing near Jeralt, while the maid had vanished at some point. The little girl and boy on the verge of tears. The other older boy glaring at everyone he could, ready to fight if it came to it. The younger brother struggling against a knight who’d restrained him.

As if this day couldn’t get any worse.

“We need to go, Son.”

Blyeth blinked a few times, dropped his weapon and strolled right back to him. “We’ll be departing now. Unless any of you object?” No one made a move, save Miklan who crawled away in a rush. “Good. Come on.” Jeralt led his son away from the latest mess.

Cassandra and Cristophe caught up once they were back in the hallways. “Sorry about that,” she apologized.

“No, it’s my fault for letting it get that far in the first place. And thanks for coming to get me, Cristophe.” Wasn’t easy running that fast in cavalry plate.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Miklan’s always been difficult,” Cassandra continued.

“Being on the border with Sreng would wear at anyone’s patience,” said Cristophe. “Having no Crest does him no favors either.”

“Oh, yeah?” The whole Crest system would be easy to break if Rhea ever wanted it. But she didn’t for some reason he never understood.

“The Gautiers have always been on the forefront of conflict with Sreng. Some days the Lance of Ruin is the only time they survive. If there’s no one to wield it their territory may well be overrun.”

Maybe that was why Lambert launched his campaign. If the heir to their foremost guardian can’t use their Hero’s Relic the entire Kingdom could be invaded. “He’s feeling the pressure of his birth.”

“And more,” said Cassandra.

Did the younger brother have the Crest? “Maybe a trip to the Officers Academy will set him straight,” said Cristophe.

“I doubt it after that stunt.” Jeralt didn’t look at his son but it was a close thing. “Sometimes you just get people you can’t reason with. Noble or commoner.” He sent a pointed look at Cassandra who shrugged it off. “Though, suppose I should apologize for missing your graduation, Cristophe.”

“Please, don’t mention it.”

“Didn’t want to mention it for me.”

“He also didn’t challenge me to a fight.”

“Really, Cassandra?”

“Hey, I’m not gonna get many more chances to take down the Blade Breaker, so I gotta take them while I can.” But her eyes went wide. “Unless…”

“If you say you’re gonna join the Knights of Seiros I’m gonna retire early.”

“Then let’s add that to the ‘forgotten’ pile. But… OK, I don’t want to pry, but was it really a good idea to bring him along on whatever secret mission you’re on?”

Today already answered that. “When you’ve got no good options you take the least bad.”

“I shudder to think of Central’s care if this is least bad.” Cristophe asked.

_ Central? Right, he lives close to the Western Church’s grounds. _ “Miklan was far from the first to end up like that. I need to make sure no one else gets hurt being stupid.”

“Yikes.” Cassandra put a hand on her head. “Well, I’ll try and keep an eye on him if things get weird.”

“I as well.”

“Yeesh, don’t getting all sappy on me. We’re probably gonna be heading back to Garreg Mach real soon anyway.” Just once he figured out what the big meeting was for.

“Dang.”

“I hope whatever you were here for went well.”

_ Far from it. _ “It was good seeing you two again.”

“Ah, Jeralt, there you are.”

“Your Majesty!” Cassandra and Cristophe immediately went into a bow as Jeralt turned to face the king.

“Finished with your business, then?” the king asked. Even in his own castle he was still fully armored. Even with a dozen of the royal guard around him.

“Yeah. Looks the same on your end too.” He needed to find out what happened.

“Indeed.” He looked past. “Hello, Cassandra and…”

“Cristophe,” Jeralt said.

“Gaspard’s son, I believe.”

“Y-yes, s-sire,” the boy replied.

“Come, boldness is necessary in leaders.” Cirstophe just gave a half-stuttered “yes sire” again. “Really, I’d thought learning under Jeralt would have strengthened your backs. So, who’s this?” he looked at Byleth.

“This would be my son, Byleth.” Who just stared up.

“Jeralt, with a child? Never thought I’d see the day. Certainly kept him hidden from me for months.”

_ No way you didn’t know after day one. _ “He’s not here for business.”

“Should I expect another formal visit then?”

He shook his head. “If you’re willing to informally tell me what today’s meeting was about we’ll be out of your country entirely.”

“A shame on the latter. But I was informing them of my plans to pursue negotiations with Duscur.”

“Huh, can’t say I actually expected you to tell me.”

“It will be public within the week," he said. "Little concern to hide it.”

“Duscur’s that peninsula to the west of here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, separated from the Kingdom by quite the mountain range.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in them?”

“Our countries have always had amiable relations," said Lambert. "But little in the way of organized trade or exchange. I thought it was time to change that, to prevent a scenario like Sreng from ever happening again.”

“Making friends before they become enemies, huh?”

“Enemies is too strong. They’ve been our most dependable neighbor for the entire history of the Kingdom, really.”

“What if they don’t like your intervention?”

“My.” Lambert smiled. “Should I have invited you into the meeting too?”

Jerlat chuckled. “No thanks, I had enough excitement out here.”

“Oh? Is it something I should be concerned with?”

_ No use lying. _ “Yes, it should. It’s why I’m gonna be heading back to Garreg Mach soon.” After today there wasn’t gonna be anything he could accomplish.

“Now I’m worried.”

“What king doesn’t?”

“Should I ask them what went wrong, or do you want it to be in your own words?’

_ Great. _ “My son may have gotten into a bit of a fight with one of the noble kids running around here.” Half the problem at least.

“Nothing serious, I would hope.”

“Is anything with a noble scion not serious?”

Lambert took a look over Byleth. “And from his telling lack of injuries it seems his opponent was the loser of this fight. I know well your lessons, so I can’t believe a son trained by you would instigate a fight. Not without good reason.”

“He was apparently defending some girl’s honor or some such and things got out of hand,” said Jeralt.

“He’s got a good heart then.”

“Needs to temper that more with a good head," said Jeralt.

“And here I was just praising his judgement. And yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Really?” Lambert had a wry smile on his lips.

“OK, yeah, I get you.” He’d certainly blown this whole operation. “So, I think it’s best to have a level head and get out of here.”

“May the next time we meet be under better circumstances.”

“I’ll agree to that.”

Lambert and the royal guard walked off. Leaving Jeralt with half a grin. “Never thought I’d see you so resigned, Cassandra.”

“Never thought I’d see you speak so casually to a king either," she said. "Last time I acted out in front of the king my father let me have it for a month.”

“Since when has that stopped you?” Cristophe said.

“If I want to be part of this Duscur thing I have to stay in his good graces.”

“Why are you interested in Duscur?”

“And you apparently knew about it already,” Jeralt said.

Cassandra shook her head. “Yeah, my father already told me before we ran into each other. I heard they’ve got a war god and I wanna check him out for myself.”

“Should you really be saying that to a Knight of Seiros?” Jeralt asked, grin on his lips.

“Please, you’re less pious than Gustave is. And the goddess is still the supreme deity. I just want to see how the Duscur go about it.”

“I hope that glib tongue doesn’t get you in any trouble,” said Cristophe, furrowing a bit.

“Well…” Cassandra smiled and snuck some glance around. “Father’s thinking of giving me Thunderbrand before then. So if there’s any trouble, they’ll get the foudroyant strike special.”

_ Oh boy. _ “A Hero’s Relic isn’t gonna make you invincible,” said Jeralt.

“Just close enough to it.”

He couldn’t fault that point. Last time he went up against a relic he was out for a month. “Don’t let it go to your head either way. Worst surprises are from those who you think are beneath you.”

“Just the kind of lesson I’d have learned if you hadn’t taken a vacation for three months.”

Jeralt chuckled. “All right, it was good seeing you Cassandra. You too, Cristophe. Good-bye.”

The two exchanged good-byes as well and separated.

* * *

Jeralt and Byleth returned to their room at the inn, readying themselves to leave on the morrow. But an envelope on the desk caught his attention. Marked with a golden flower. A code that earned a frown. He tore open the paper and read the message inside.

They were staying in Fhirdiad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order to prepare for NaNo 2019 I'm gonna be speed-writing to the end of the Faerghus arc before November hits. So Chapter quality is gonna take a dip. Then there'll be nothing until December. But when that hits, it'll be weekly Chapters for a few months, probably!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt joins Lambert, Patricia, Dimitri and Cassandra on their trip to Duscur. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts the trend of more violence in the story.

**Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1172**

The streets of Fhridiad had cleared away during the month. Wealthy and pious pilgrims heading south towards Garreg Mach for the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth. Those who couldn’t afford the travel took refuge in local branches. Including the building where Jeralt’s contact was. It was packed to capacity during every service which made the whole spycraft thing even more complicated.

Lambert not even occupying the city was the other.

He and his elite were gone to Duscur, and while they were away Jeralt wasn’t permitted any visits to either Volkhard or Patricia. Even the Western Church’s activities had faded into the background.

It meant he could finally take Byleth ice fishing like he wanted, but the tension ruined the sport each time they went. Why Rhea wanted them to stay another month he had no idea. Especially with the Rite of Rebirth coming up at the end of the month. But he’d make the best of it.

Nearing the end of Blue Sea Moon Lambert finally returned. It was subdued, and if Jeralt hadn’t been on the look out he certainly would have missed it. But the patrols had a sharper spring in their step and the security around Volkhard’s manor had sharpened again.

A trio of knights awaited in front of the inn, after Jeralt returned from an attempted meeting. The moment they saw each other, the knights delivered a summons from Lambert and departed. An invitation from Lambert; the last thing he expected after last month.

Taking Byleth with him - because he wasn’t letting his kid out of his sight save an apocalyptic event - they headed back towards Fhirdiad Castle and its still busy main gate. The letter gave them another escort inside the grounds. This time they were led not to the castle itself, but the outbuildings within the walls. An entire convoy of horses, wagons and carriages in front of the stables. Packed to the brim with supplies: food, water, weapons, armor, tents and every other thing an army on the move needed. If it weren’t for the lavishly decorated carriages he might think this was an actual invasion force.

Lambert was here and surrounded by numerous high officials from their state of dress. Gustave, whom he recognized, and a man who had to be Duke Fraldarius from the Crest of Fraldarius on his collar, the king pardoned himself from his entourage and walked up to Jeralt. With Gustave and the duke following.

“Lambert,” said Jeralt, “how are things?”

“Well.” He spared a glance at Byleth. “I believe the correspondence requested you come alone.”

“Every time I let him out of my sight something happens, so I’m making sure he’s always within arm’s reach.”

“So be it.”

“I know you’ve heard what happened, so is this to clear the air or to banish me from your country forever?” Jeralt asked.

“Nothing so drastic as the latter, and I’m too busy preparing my next journey to worry about the former at the moment,” said Lambert.

“Going to Garreg Mach, then?”

“Back to Duscur, actually.”

_ Huh _. “Good or bad?”

“Good news, in this case,” said Lambert. “Negotiations went splendidly and they’ve extended a more formal invitation to return.”

_ Looks like all my worrying was for nothing. _ “Is it a good idea to do this during the Blue Sea Moon?” Leaving the country during the most holy month of the year wasn’t a good look.

“I do not believe the goddess to be so fickle as to care where I worship from.”

“It’s not the goddess I worry about.”

“Oh? Perhaps she should be concerned with you missing the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth.”

Just another problem on the pile. “Probably. So, why did you call me here?”

“Yes, why did you want me to summon him, Gustave?”

This trip was full of unbelievable things. “I wish for Sir Jeralt to accompany your staff to Duscur.” And again.

“Have you so little faith in my bodyguards?”

“It is not just for your safety I worry, Your Majesty.”

“What’s that mean?” Jeralt asked.

“Prince Dimitri is to accompany His Majesty,” said Duke Fraldarius. The man had a shade of a beard and some dark hair. 

“I…” That was not something he could just blurt out as stupid. “Is that wise…?”

“Dimitri needs to see the world outside Faerghus. To see the peoples beyond Fódlan. “I’ve had this conversation with every advisor here. My decision stands. Besides.” Lambert pointed at Byleth. “You’ve let your own son travel the line of trouble yourself.”

“Can’t deny that.” No wonder Gustave wanted him going. “Why leave with so few guards, then?” Looked like a hundred maybe? And the same number in camp followers.

“Underestimating the Kingdom’s best, are you? Every man is worth twenty others.”

“And Gustave?” Jeralt guessed.

Lambert sent a glance at the knight, who responded. “My own daughter is ill at the moment. I should be at her side.”

“I had to order him, would you believe it?”

“My wife is more than capable of taking care of Annette.”

“And I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“But to leave Areadbhar behind as well?” Gustave said a shocking thing.

“What good comes from a messenger of peace armed for war?” All of them shot flat looks at that. “Heroes’ Relics have too bloody a history. Elicit violence with their mere existence. Even outside Fódlan they’re well known as bringers of ruin. To ride into a foreign country with a weapon that can match a hundred men would invite disaster itself.”

Duke Fraldarius said, “Then at the very least I should accompany you with the Aegis Shield.” The Hero’s Relic of House Fraldarius.

“I appreciate your concern, old friend. But you are needed here. Should this journey encounter peril, I will also need men I trust here, safeguarding the nation. Keeping my brother in check, and a man to lead my son down the righteous path, should I not.”

Jeralt shook his head. “All that talk of it being fine and you’re still preparing for if it isn’t.”

“‘Tis a fool leader indeed who does not plan for failure.”

“Suppose I have no choice but to make sure you do come back then.” Forcing himself into more nonsense. Maybe this was what Rhea wanted.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Lambert said with a slight smile.

“I’m sure you could use spiritual guidance as well.”

“And if I say ‘no’?”

Jeralt shrugged. “It’s your decision. I could use more time with my kid. But do you really want them fussing about your safety even more?”

Lambert rubbed his chin. “You make a fair point.”

“We have only your safety in mind, Your Majesty,” said Gustave.

“Then, Jeralt, I think I will accept your offer.” Relief took over the faces of the other two men. “But what of your son?”

“I would be glad to look over the boy,” Gustave offered.

“I as well,” said Duke Fraldarius.

“Thanks for the offers.” Much as Lambert trusted them, Jeralt couldn’t. “But with your own child sick I don’t want to impose with that. And… it’s difficult for most kids to get along with him.” It felt wrong to speak of Byleth like this when he was right there but he never made any move of discomfort. “Is Christophe Gaspard around? They’re familiar with one another.”

“He’s with Cassandra Charon around here somewhere,” said Lambert. 

Glad those two always stick together. “Er, he’s not coming with, right?”

“He is not.”

“Good, good. I’ll see if I can get him to safeguard my kid then.”

“Then,” said Lambert, “we’ll continue with preparations.”

“How long is this supposed to take?”

“Leave in two days time. A week to Duscur; a week back. Perhaps two in country. A month in total.”

Back by Verdant Rain Moon then. It’d be the longest Byleth and he were ever separated. “Here’s hoping then.”

“Sir Jeralt,” said Gustave, “when you’ve finished I would like a word myself.”

That was sure to be simple. “All right.”

Jeralt and Byleth excused themselves from the little circle and went about searching for Christophe and Cassandra.

“Why can’t I go?” Byleth spoke up.

“It might be dangerous.”

“The prince is going.”

Jeralt sighed. “I know. Remember everything I taught you.”

“I would never forget.”

“Good lad.”

Christophe and Cassandra were in some engagement near the tail end of the convoy. Her animated as ever, him near stoic against her exaggerations.

“Hey! Jeralt! Come to join us going to Duscur?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Whoa.” Surprise sprayed across both their faces. “All right, gonna make up for the missing month, eh?”

“I doubt that,” said Christophe. “I’d say he’s there as an attache from Central.”

Close enough. “Yeah. Making sure everything here’s nice and in-line with doctrine.” Or Rhea’s doctrines, anyway. “But it’s gonna take time and…”

“You want one of us to babysit huh?” said Cassandra.

“Which means me,” Christophe said with his common put-upon resignation. “I was only here to see her off, not get wrapped into bodyguard duty.”

“I’ll make sure you’re paid for your time.” Or the church would.

“I would never take payment from you, sir.” Though his eyes flickered over at her. “Though, I’d say making sure she comes back would be payment enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m making sure everyone gets back safe and sound,” he promised them. “So make sure my kid’s safe and sound, OK.”

“I’ll do my utmost.”

“You two make it sound like I can’t protect myself.” But she smirked, and from behind her back drew a sword. Not a simple blade of iron, or steel or even silver. With a yellowed metal so like stone, a blade half her height, prongs that jutted upwards as spikes. The rounded pommel in her hand still large enough that he could see the Crest Stone of Charon glowing. “Anyone who messes with me messes with Thunderbrand.” The Hero’s Relic of House Charon.

“You know Lam—the king’s not bringing his Relic, right?”

“All the more reason to bring mine.”

“She’s been like this ever since her father gave it to her.”

“What’s so great about that sword?” Byleth suddenly spoke up. 

Jeralt “It’s a Hero’s Relic, Son. Divine gift from the Goddess, breaker of armies.”

“Oh?” He stared intently at the blade. “It doesn’t look that powerful.”

Christophe laughed and Cassandra hung her head. She said, “We’ll see about that.”

“Hopefully not,” Jeralt corrected her. “Anyway, thank you, Christophe. I’ll make sure he has a regimen to follow while I’m away. Hopefully he won’t give you trouble.”

“I’m used to trouble.”

Cassandra slapped him on the back. “Darn straight you are.” And she laughed.

“Then I’ll go tell the king I’m on board.”

They exchanged good-byes and Father and Son walked back to another father.

Where a mother and step-son were waiting. Patricia was out, in a thick blue coat that reached passed her knees and her hair tied up into a bun. Dimitri holding on to her hand while wearing a coat half as thick and long.

“I cannot recommend this,” said Lambert, his face gone wide at whatever Patricia was saying. “You’ve only just recovered again.”

“Being locked inside the castle is as bad for my health as this air,” she said.

She couldn’t be…

“And you would expose yourself to this air for a month? Maybe two? No. What would…” Lambert looked at his son. At Jeralt next. “Jeralt.”

“L—Your Majesty. Your Majesty.”

“I would appreciate it would you not intrude on our conversation, sir knight,” said Patricia, icier than winter air.

He deserved that. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I simply wished to inform His Majesty that I am fully ready to accompany the trip to Duscur.”

Patricia looked him over with a raised eye. Not what she expected either. This conversation would be best done with limited participants, would you not agree?”

Lambert nodded. “Gustave, if you would take Dimitri away, please.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Come, Your Highness.” The knight offered his hand to the young prince, who hesitated, but after trepidation took it.

“And your boy, Jeralt?”

Jeralt fought back rolling his eyes. “Gustave, if you would?” The knight obliged with a nod and the two young boys were led away. Only King, Queen, Duke and Captain remained. “If my presence disturbs you, Your Majesty, I would rescind my offer of companionship.”

“I question whether my king would prefer his old school teacher or his wife at his side,” she said.

“I would take both,” said Lambert. “But I want neither a wife lain more with sickness nor a man she wishes away on this trip.”

“Sequestering myself within this castle with naught but crochet and tea to pass my time has eroded my health as much as the cold. We have exchanged vows, and yet we see so little of each other.” For a flash her features relaxed. That girlish glee of Patty showing tight.

“I would be beside myself if this only worsened your condition.”

“I am not solely my sickness.”

“I know that yet…” Lambert looked at him. “If a man such as Jeralt wishes to accompany us for fear of our lives how could I ask you to risk yours?”

“Yet you would bring young Dimitri with you?”

“He will have the finest knights of Faerghus safeguarding him at all times.”

“And I as well.”

“Patricia…”

She puffed out her chest and put her hands on her hips. “I graduated from the Officers Academy myself. I’m not some frail maiden like in Loog’s tales.” She turned her attention to Jeralt. “Best student, I believe you called me.”

Just like Cassandra. Or Casandra was like her. “I need to stop complimenting people.” Not his place to point out how soft her hands had become.

“I will protect Dimitri. I will protect… you. And I… I wish to be free of Fódlan, if even for a day. And all its politics. Is that so wrong?”

Lambert gently placed his arms on her shoulders. “No, my dear. No. Rodrigue, if you would?”

“I will do my utmost,” said Duke Fraldarius.

He hated to interrupt the moment. “Would you object to my presence, Your Majesty.”

“No, Sir Jeralt,” her voice losing all its softness, “your assistance would be most warranted.”

“Here’s to a pleasant trip, then.”

Rodrigue headed for his own work, and Gustave and Dimitri and Byleth were called for the new orders. Ones the knight rejected, but ultimately accepted. The royal family left for its preparations and Gustave motioned for him. Jeralt walked over, close enough for the knight to whisper. An unbelievable request that he had no choice but to accept.

* * *

The journey west was pleasant as far as things went. Even though Jeralt hadn’t sleapt in a tent in nearly half a century it was oddly relaxing in some ways. Reminding him of his time as a mercenary, way back when he first met Rhea. As much as his old life was lost, the time he nearly died protecting her still glowed like the sun.

Time awake was spent chatting with others on horseback. Lambert, Patricia, even little Dimitri when Lambert let him out of the carriage. Cassandra kept on her feet, and was constantly pestering him to spar. Which in light of everything he let happen. She came close a fair few times in their bouts but he still had her.

More than a few times Lambert invited him to dine privately with him and the family. Though he rejected at the start, the lousy army rations eventually wore him down. Living at Garreg Mach with its outstanding chefs meant he could no longer stomach even average food anymore.

Since Byleth always ate in silence it was refreshing to get some family atmosphere for a meal. Marigold had always been so good at it (and cooking). He tried to keep his memories, and hopes from burdening his perceptions. Lambert and Patricia speaking with each other, with him, and Dimitri. Gently chiding the boy when necessary and keeping him prim and proper as best they could in the circumstances.

It was not the fiery love he’d seen in her eyes for Ionius. But there was a warmth there. One that reminded him of Rhea, in some ways. Lambert reciprocated in kind. Always a genuine smile on his face whenever she was nearby. Good humor flowing free whenever she was around. No matter the stance, his seemed genuine. And Dimitri kept doing so much for her attention and always did she respond with smiles and compliments.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was right. But intruding on this happiness, feigned or not, felt sour.

Saint Cethleann Day passed during the journey. A small congregation gathered to pray. Jeralt not among them, but Lambert and his family were.

After the celebration, on the edge of camp, night sky starry and air crips, Jeralt looked out. Bright enough to see the plains. The guards on patrol. He’d checked and rechecked all the gear he’d brought with him. Made sure no one else was maintaining it. Couldn’t afford anything happening to the weapons. A few knights made passing conversation but walked off after a bit. Leaving him nigh alone at night.

“Hello, Jeralt.” Solitude broken.

He turned to face Patricia. “Ah, hello, Your Majesty.” She was without guards. Clad in a thick cloak.

“A cold night, isn’t it?”

“You get used to it.” He was, in his ancient youth. “I’m surprised you’re willing to speak with me privately after the debacle.”

“I’ve not forgotten. My fury smolders. I do not think I can ever forgive your words.”

“I’m not the kind of man to say ‘sorry’.”

She walked up closer. “Nor would I expect you to.”

“What is it you wish to discuss?” No chance she was here for a friendly chat.

“Ionius has eleven children, did you know?”

Where was she going with this? “Yours with him is the third youngest, I believe?”

“Nine others ahead of her in succession. Yet despite all that, the other consorts accused me of currying favor to raise her status.”

“I always knew whatever got you exiled was slander.”

“When Volkhard was appointed reagent it only worsened. A simple baronet now had power on par with the prime minister. They wasted no time conspiring with Duke Aegir to exile me.”

“Never heard a good thing about that man.”

“If these were academy days I might think, perhaps, that Ionius attempted to consolidate power for my sake.”

“But Patty’s no longer here.”

“No.” She looked back, at Lambert’s tent. Her tent. “I will carve out what happiness I can. With Lambert, with Dimitri.”

_ Don’t mention Edelgard. Don’t mention Edelgard. _ “And Edelgard?”

She stiffened like the dead. “I hope one day she is happy, too.” A curious choice of words. “Good night, Jeralt.”

“Good night, Patricia.”

Only later did he realize how much that sounded like a good-bye.

* * *

The travel over the mountains separating Faerghus and Duscur was less trial than Jeralt expected. The people on both sides had carved out a wide and clear path and there was no border checkpoint in Duscur proper. Simply a welcoming party of twenty or so men and women. Dark-skinned like Almyrans and Brigidans he’d met in the past. But a number with fairer hair among them. 

Only perhaps half were actually equipped for combat. High quality from a glance, the Duscur blacksmiths knew their craft at least. Still, the knights of Faerghus could have overrun their little gathering with no effort. If anything did happen, it didn’t seem Duscur could defend itself. From an early impression, at least.

A man stepped forward from the Duscur ranks. Broad-shouldered, tall as Lambert maybe. Bald, but with a large beard, white in color, and sharply maintained. 

Lambert stepped forward without guards and the two men exchanged handshakes and words. With great smiles and greater cheer Lambert waved them forward across the grassy plains. Jeralt among fifty others to accompany them.

The city was unlike anything he’d ever seen in Fódlan. There were no walls entirely. In Fódlan, even villages as small as Remire had walls. But here the city just sort of started. The buildings were stone, almost solid in appearance. Unlike the brick and morter of the bigger Fódlan cities. The buildings were squared but seemed built into each other, lacking in allies common in the greater Fódlan cities. 

And every step he was just bombarded with the smell of food. Fish, crab, shrimp, beef, pork. Strong fruits and vegetables and seasonings. It was an army of smells so alluring he was practically drooling and he was not the only one. Stoic knights of Faerghus raised their visors to sniff at the air. Camp cooks gazed in awe at the food on display in stores and stalls as they walked. This was about the best first impression anyone could make.

The group was led into a large, three story building in the center of town. Preparations were made for an exchange of feasts. All the quality meats and bread that was saved for the royal family and guests would be put on display to compete with the Duscur chefs.

The two sides worked for hours as the diplomats spent time discussing culture and trade and the future. The warriors exchanged tales of battle and a few exchanged more romantic words. 

The food was prepared and served on time. The feast was lavish. Which was an understatement. There were cuts of meat, vegetables and fruits familiar and not, enormous bowls of stew, fish platters and so many types of bread Jeralt couldn’t name half of them. And the spices. Each one was a new punch of flavor. Some were overpowering, while others were so subtle he wasn’t sure they were there until he tried something without a pinch. The Duscur sure knew how to cook. 

Jeralt was one of many who engaged with the Duscur cuisine. Lambert, Patricia, Cassandra and Dimitri also partaking. A significant number of knights and servants retained themselves to the Faerghus-directed buffet. Tensions didn’t ebb easily, even in peace.

The feast lasted until dusk. The food taken away hours ago but the atmosphere so intoxicating anyway. Some knights eventually crossed off their trepidation and took a sample of Duscur food, but most still retained their caution.

Eventually the merriment was cut. The prince having no little friends of his own to sit with and completely stumped by all the big words going about. Late as it was getting Lambert excused themselves. The Faerghus delegation headed far south where the encampment had been erected. The Duscur city nothing but torchlight on the horizon.

Lambert reassured his people of the fine intentions of the Duscur. Patricia and Dimitri aiding him when necessary. While it didn’t mollify everyone the mood on a whole seemed to glow with approval. The royal family retired for the knight, their tent ringed by some of the only guards still wearing armor. Plenty of soldiers were moving without armor this late. Maybe only one in three was on active duty. For this small a group they couldn’t be lax. That was just inviting disaster. Especially with so many civilians in camp too.

Jeralt spent his time patrolling to make up for it. Inspecting his equipment. Talking with Cassandra, or testing the occasional knight acting a bit buffoonish. There was talk of how odd the food tasted, coming from those who limited themselves to the Faerghus food of all things, but on a whole the chatter of the camp as a whole seemed positive. Maybe he was just being too paranoid. The Duscur had been nothing but hospitable. His short trips around had seen not a thing to be wary of. The village population probably less than their camp, really.

“Hey, you all right?” the knight put an arm around his retching companion. He wasn’t the only knight on his knees either. A good few around were suddenly puking their guts out. Guess the Duscur food didn’t agree with them. 

Everyone that was losing their dinner had someone helping them through it. Real nice camaraderie from these Kingdom knights. The closest knight emptying his stomach stopped and put his arm up around his buddy. 

Who suddenly fell over?

“What’s the matter?” Jeralt said and hustled closer. Was he ill? No—the fallen knight’s throat was red and eyes wide. The killing knife clenched in the hand of the other knight. “What did you do?” Jeralt drew his lance! The knight didn’t even offer a reply, his words were slurred—drunk maybe?—and lunged right at him!

Champion of bar fights that he was Jeralt was able to stop the attack with a single shift of his wrists. The knife went flying—but the man continued to rush him. Jeralt slammed him with the butt of his lance and pinned him to the ground.

The commotion should have drawn attention but he remained alone. Where the hell was anyone else? He looked up from the violently struggling man—the whole camp was facing the same. Knight against brother knight. Mindless, savage violence without thought or skill. But the lucid knights were caught so off guard by their comrades sudden turn that few managed to defend themselves. And those that did were quickly being punished. The mad struck only at the sane. This wasn’t random, this was intentional.

The Duscur? No - whoever was responsible could wait. “Sorry about this.” Jeralt snapped the neck of the victim beneath him. There was no luxury of mercy for this. “Go with the goddess.” He stood back up to the camp in chaos.

He jolted into action and with a great shout split apart another mindless knight. “Find Lambert!” he shouted at the knight he did save, before returning to combat. He slew as many as he could. Whatever had overtaken their minds had robbed them of their knightly technique but they held a bestial fury. Those he rescued regained their footing, pushed back. With the initiative gone, the feral knights couldn’t win.

Tents went aflame. Shouts of “fire!” now joining the chorus of combat. The clash of knight and flame and smoke busying the battlefield. Jeralt cleaved his way through the chaos to where Lambert and his royal guard restrained a knight more beast than man. Patricia nearby, Dimitri in her arms, the boy burying himself in her side to shield his eyes from the violence.

“Strike camp and head south! We return to Faerghus without rest!” The knights and servants leapt to their new orders while Lambert approached him. “You’ve any idea why this occurred?”

“They weren’t in their right mind, either they were traitors or…”

“Impossible, I handpicked these knights myself. Their conduct is beyond reproach.”

“Or they were afflicted by something mind-altering.” Food from Duscur? Magic? “We can worry about that later.”

“Agreed.”

“How are the queen and prince?”

“Alive, uninjured. Thank the goddess.”

“Good, good.” He’d outlived enough students and children. “I’m going to make sure my horse got through this alright.”

“It was good having you here, Jeralt.”

“We’re not out of this yet.”

Jeralt burst into a run with Lambert shouting more orders behind him. Water was thrown on burning tents, others were struck, and all the knights hoping for a peaceful sleep were hastily throwing on their armor. The makeshift stables had been spared any damage and already the knights and squires on duty were saddling the war beasts.

A thousand spikes wracked up Jeralt’s calves and he nearly stumbled face first into the mud. He could feel blood pooling into his feet. But there wasn’t a thing on the ground or in sight that could have caused it. And he wasn’t the only one affected. The other people had collapsed as well, the horses had reared back and had they not been the most highly trained animals in the Kingdom would have surely broken free. This was damn powerful magic, more powerful than he’d ever experienced.

He buried the butt of his lance in the ground and forced himself up. “Get my horse ready!” he shouted at the one knight still standing. He leapt to it with such alacrity that Jeralt’s horse was saddled and ready by the time he arrived. “I’ll send for physicians at once,” he lied as he swung into his saddle.

His feet ached as he kicked his horse into returning to camp.

A massive fireball, larger than the tents smashed into one and exploded. Bodies flew in the night.

“No…” There was only one creature that could produce something like that.

Another ball and another and the fires spread and the whole camp was ablaze. Striding in through the flames was a creature of horror. Four-long limbs that ended in claws that could crush a horse's body. An almost too-thin body that went from tail to head. Its giant maw drooling, the crest stone on its head glowing red. With no eyes it still saw. Focused on its nearest prey. It lunged at a knight, the man’s spear unable to penetrate the barrier that flickered into being, and would be unable to penetrate that ropy skin beneath.

What the hell were Demonic Beasts doing here?!

Three of the horrors stalked the camp. Killing with terrible ease. In a prepared case the Kingdom’s elite could have stood their ground and won. But the circumstances were weighed so heavily against them there was no chance.

He had to even the odds.

He kicked his horse into a gallop and unveiled the lance loaned to him by Gustave. A single strike at its head tore out a huge gout of snout and sticky black blood. Areadbhar cutting through its barrier like it was but wet paper.

Jeralt brought his horse around as a demonic blast just narrowly missed him. With speed he charged and full might he swung—boosted even further by his Crest of Seiros flaring! Areandbhar cleaved its remaining head in twain. It screeched a horrific noise and struggled, fell, and melted. Blackened body oozing over its victims.

“To the king!” Jeralt shouted! Rallying what he could back towards Lambert.

Ten or so knights followed, none but one equipped fully but they were knights of Faerghus. They would fight to the death regardless. Though death surrounded them, and calls for mercy and aid assailed them, they had their duty. 

Lambert and his guards engaged another of the Demonic Beasts. The thin had thing cuts bleeding out but rampaged still. A blast from its maw barely incinerating another knight while the remaindered assailed it. The lances in tandem shattering its protection but unable to mar its skin beyond scratches.

“Lambert!” Jeralt shouted. The king turned, recognition burning in his eyes. With a toss Jeralt transferred Areadbhar in the hands of its true owner it glowed red. The Hero’s Relic brought about with a more monstrous force than even the monster it struck. In one blow the inhuman creature was slain.

Too easy, too easy. These were the weakest Demonic Beasts he’d ever seen and he’d seen more than near anyone else.

Mystery could wait. “Get the third!”

“Ha, too slow!” Cassandra shouted! And dragged herself into view from smoke and flame. Thunderbrand red from glow and blood. The sword used as a walking stick as she dragged herself forward. Her face a bloody mess, left arm limp at her side, right foot shuffling. “Think I need a rest though.” She fell to the ground and a camp follower hurried to her side.

“Get her mounted, now!” Lambert ordered.

“On me!” Jeralt brought up his horse and helped load his troublesome student.

A stampede erupted behind as the stabled horses came free, led by the reins by a pair of knights bleeding from their feet. Maybe two dozen mounts, with only a third with proper saddles attached.

“Griswold, guard my son with your life.” A knight in thick armor took the young prince atop a horse. “Jeralt, break us south!”

“Where’s Patricia?”

“She was to meet her carriage, the horses had yet to be unhitched.” Lambert pulled himself into one of the few horses with saddles.

“For Duscur!” Figures in black exploded from the shadows with that shout! Already the depleted Kingdom forces were cut down once more. But a clear foe rallied their spirits like little else and once recovered they met the foe with gusto. At any other time this may have been enough to turn the tide or at least hold it, but battered and dispirited the knights could not overcome their newest assailants. While they clashed Jeralt did his best to help, but covering Cassandra made it more difficult than it should be.

He lured one of the armored enemies nearby a brazier. The man was quick despite being covered hair to toe, but Jeralt stabbed through the flames and struck a huge gash in the helm. Even in fire light Jeralt could see how pale the man was. Deathly pale beyond even the most sun-starved nobles. This was not an act of Duscur alone. It couldn’t be.

Horses charged unto the scene, the cavalry hastily put together but still strong enough to trample the well-equipped infantry. If they could rally around this they might yet avoid utter disaster.

An orb of blackness flew through the knight and flung a knight far aside his mount. Two more soon followed—one at Jeralt which he narrowly avoided.

Everyone did their best to maintain formation as the few horses were mounted up but the defensive perimeter was being pushed in. With Lambert and a handpicked few now out and heading towards a carriage seemingly untouched by the carnage. That handpicked few whittled away by swords, arrows and spell. Lambert and one other made it to the carriage, the king prying open the door—and nothing.

He sat there frozen. Was Patricia dead? A girl came, a camp follower, so many were running around in fear and panic. Going towards the one person rife with confidence and stability.

But no, even at the distance Jeralt could see something was off. “Lambert!” The king reacted to his name and swung around but the girl and her knife were faster. From thigh to heel she cut flesh and ran off with utter mirth on her face. Then struck an orb of darkness and Lambert slumped. Areadbhar dropping from his grip.

“To your king - knights of Faerghus!”

With a rallying cry that shattered the night every single living warrior of Faerghus charged forth. The last protector of the king had fallen by a mob of blades but seconds before relief swarmed them all. A footmen threw himself into Lambert’s saddle while another recovered the Relic and handed it up. 

There, with them, Jeralt saw the inside of the carriage. Empty. Utterly empty. No body, no blood, no sign of a struggle. If this was Patricia’s carriage she was never inside it.

That mystery could wait. “South!” He led them. Those with enough measure of mind to retreat. Every horse now laden with additional passengers. Those that tried to carry more, or stayed behind to fight, died. Civilians died and there was nothing he could do to help. Curses by enemy and ally alike chased after them. Their mad rush to escape still stalled by the soldiers in the dark. Spells exchanged in the black night. Death the master on this field.

Against all odds a dozen and half broke free. Screams of agony chasing them. Curses and accusations right after. Then the enemy, on horses their own.

“We’ll hold them off!” Three paladins turned to face their pursuers. The first exchange a brilliant victory. But three men could not defeat twenty in this situation.

Jeralt and his charges carried themselves south. No enemies in the moonlight save one. The man and his horse were huge. His armor covered every facet of his body and even more so his horse and a shield nearly as big as he was covered his left while a two-pronged bolt ax was wielded in his left. “Come, beasts of the Kingdom! Your doom approaches!”

_ Who talks like that? _ “I’ll take care of this one,” Jeralt shouted to the rider next to him. “The rest of you keep going!”

The other riders slowed their pace to let Jeralt overtake. But his opponent wasn’t gonna let it go so simply. With a swing a bolt of lightning flew out and blasted the rider to his left. On another the rider now far to his right. But he had no choice.

Jeralt charged forward with all the power he could and his lance deflected off that giant shield. “Do better, savage beast!” The man’s next bolt came for him and Jeralt had no choice but to block it to protect Cassandra. The lightning melted his shield, burned his arm. But he passed. Jeralt hurled a throwing ax back at his enemy, which did nothing, and kept on.

All that armor meant he’d never pursue successfully. Lightning bolt after bolt followed but Jeralt dodged them all. Regrouping with the knights, now well out of range.

“Savage beasts! Duscur will never bow to the Kingdom!” His taunt chasing them better than the magic weapon could.

Jeralt’s feet were shredded, his left arm burning. He’d been cut on his head at one point. But through it all he was alive. Another battle survived. For now.

Only ten other horses were with him. All doubled up with passengers. Lambert, Dimitri and Cassandra bleeding themselves to death in the chaos. The riders barely any better. One slumped off his horse, never to rise. The trained animal keeping its pace, even with its lone passenger now. Too many left behind, cursing the knights for cowardice. Maybe even Patricia mong them.

Pinpricks of orange alighted in front of them. No chance to outrun. No chance they survive another attack. Still, Jeralt prepared his lance for the impossible. 

“Your Majesty!”

The solemn-turned-urgent voice of Gustave! “The king’s been badly wounded!” Jeralt shouted before anyone else ever could.

“South, south to Dominic territory!” The man rode ahead of nearly fifty men, his face desperate even in the low light. “We’ll cover your retreat!”

Riders for king and country passed in the night. Rear of Gustave’s band took lead back south.

Combat loud and dangerous behind. Nothing else as they rode back. Nothing save pain.

* * *

The fancy halls of the Dominic Estate were tortured by the busy. Those bleeding and those trying to stop it. Physicians, priests, bishops, surgeons and barbers. All that could be assembled from the territory worked ceaselessly on their patients.

Half did not survive even then.

Jeralt had been lucky. Some burn scars on his left arm, a new scar on his face. Whatever spell had struck their feet had caused a hundred tiny cuts, which the physicians could handle with relative ease.

Every other survivor could not boast that.

Even the best off were seeing the goddess. Knights had to be peeled from their sticking armor, sometimes they never even got that. The few camp followers who survived were shuttering messes. One just giggling as their legs were amputated.

Cassandra had been touch and go for hours. Beyond her savaged left arm and clawed face were plenty of injuries he couldn’t see at the time. Both by blood and night. Goddess-granted miracle she hadn’t passed already.

Dimitri was the only other one close to minor injuries, only taking a blow upside the head and an arrow to the bicep. But anything like that was too much for a child as young as him to bear. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Crying all the while.

It would only get worse once he learned about his father.

Lambert had taken few injuries. That nasty stab wound the worst of the lot but even that would be survivable by someone as healthy as the man was. Yet everyone who applied their arts to him couldn’t mend it. Everything he’d been stricken with refused to close. The thread and needle unable to counter all the lost blood. The King of Faerghus was on his deathbed.

A wave of misery even fiercer washed over all those that lived. And Jeralt could do naught but watch tears and fears fall where they may.

For his last moments Lambert had to prepare. Gustave had gone inside shortly after the head physician made the announcement. Whatever message the king gave him resulted in an even more grim visage when he left.

And then Lambert called for him.

Jeralt wasn’t gonna turn down a dead man.

Lambert was paler than his sheets, soaked with sweat and his eyes drifted lazily. His caretakers had given him as much dignity back as they could but every breath sent a shudder down his body. Half of those resulted in a cough that wracked his body. 

“Thank you, for being there, Jeralt.”

“Any time.”

“I need you to—” he ruined himself with a dozen coughs. “I need you to bring to the archbishop the Duscur weren’t responsible.”

“I will.”

“You must. Gustave will—” another cough. “Do the same for my brother.”

“I’ll do what I must.” And he must ask. “What of Patricia?”

“Gone. Taken? Maybe?”

Or of her own volition. Back to the Empire.

“There must not be a war.”

“I’ll do all I can.” _ But it won’t be enough. _

“And there must be justice!” A flash of fury sent the man into a spasm. “B-be good to my son…”

“I will.” No retiring anytime soon. “May the Goddess return you to her side, King Lambert.”

Maybe he imagined the smile on Lambert’s lips when he left. But it didn’t matter.

Dimitri was led inside after, and Gustave came up. “I offer my eternal gratitude for your assistance, Sir Jeralt.”

“I should be thanking you for coming. Things would have been worse if you hadn’t convinced me to take Areadbhar like that.” He wasn’t gonna ask why he’d trusted him since in light of everything. “Why were you nearby anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be taking care of your kid?”

“Christophe had a message for you, wished it delivered in all due haste. And I...”

_ Disobeyed orders to serve your king. _“What trouble did Byleth get into now?”

“It is best you hear it from Christophe.”

It was real bad then.

The door to Lambert’s room opened, letting the grieving prince out. Gustave walked to the boy. The prince’s eyes weeping… but also burning with anger. The rage-fueled sorrow reflecting an intensity that Jeralt had rarely seen.

_ Dammit Lambert. _

And then broke the news of the king’s passing. Agony splaying over all tenfold in strength.

He had his own son to take care of, and excused himself from Gustave’s company. He moved towards Cassandra’s room, Christophe at her bedside shaken with grief all his own. Almost worse off in some ways than she was.

“How is she?”

“The physician’s…” He turned in his chair. “Why? Why Cassandra?”

“It was… her choice.” It was never easy to accept someone doing something that endangered their life.

“She wanted to be called ‘Thunderstrike’ you know? Ridiculous. How’s she gonna do that with one arm?”

_ Dammit. _ “She’s strong. If anyone could come back from this, it’s her.” Jeralt put a comforting hand on the man’s shaking shoulder. “But Christophe, I need you to tell me, what happened? What happened with Byleth?”

Half-dead eyes returned to the living. “Ah, Captain! It’s your son! He—”

* * *

“What happened to my son?!” Jeralt barged into the infirmary of Fhirdiad Castle.

The frightened physician pointed to him immediately. Byleth was lying in bed, shirt gone, a blood-spotted bandaged layered over his left shoulder. Big bruises were purpling his cheeks and eye. Eyes that didn’t open.

_ It’s your son! He was attacked and nearly killed! _

Jeralt dropped to the side of his son and held his hand. “How…” How...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That could have gone better.
> 
> And NaNo's right around the clock. See you in December. Or November should there be some outrageous outpouring desire for completely unedited head-to-page writing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is declared.
> 
> Just not the war anyone expected.

_ Imperial Year 1172, Blue Sea Moon.  _

_ Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, is slain in an ambush during a diplomatic meeting with the neighboring nation of Duscur. Of the 312 people who accompanied him, only seven survive. The Tragedy of Duscur fills the people with anguish and grief at the loss of their beloved king. Grand Duke Rufus, older brother of the king and regent for the young Crown Prince Dimitri, musters the armies of Faerghus in a call of revenge. _

_ The Knights of Seiros and allies of the crown prince arrive in Duscur as the Kingdom army goes about its bloody work. On the authority of Crown Prince Dimitri, Duke Fraldarius and the intervention of the Central Church, Duscur is spared the full weight of punishment. Half the country is blackened ruins, unfit for life, the other half regulated to a life of submission under the domain of the new viscount, Kleiman. The countrymen of Duscur are put under sanction and lose their freedom, their culture, their heritage… but never their pride. _

_ The state of the Kingdom fractures further admit tensions between supporters of the grand duke and crown prince. Lines are drawn, and alliances made. The Western Church strengthens its ties with the grand duke amid accusations of interference and favoritism by the Central Church. Rufus bleeds the populace dry with heavy taxes that bolster the strength of the military. Rebellions that rise in protest are put down in brutal fashion by the very armies their taxes pay for. Rumormongering and gossip spreads of the grand duke’s true intent: an invasion of the Adrestian Empire. _

_ The body of Queen-consort Patricia was absent from the grounds of the Tragedy of Duscur. The only member of the party left unaccounted for. With Volkhard von Arundel returning to the Empire the very night of the Tragedy, paranoia and distrust lend strength to accusations hurled at the south. The Empire denies all claims, but readies itself for a border war all the same. _

_ As unofficial skirmishes break out near the border, tensions rise high amongst the latest student body of the Officers Academy of Garreg Mach Monastery. Incidents and accusations rise in frequency. War comes... _

  
  


**Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

_ Three years after the Tragedy of Duscur… _

Lance met sword in a furious exchange of blows. Wooden splinters exploded off as power clashed with power. Father and Son demonstrating before the students gathered from the three houses of the Officers Academy of Garreg Mach Monastery.

Byleth’s swings were fast, so fast. Three years of redoubled effort had sharpened his combat sense on par with a holy knight and every spar now drew sweat from the veteran knight he engaged. Jeralt gave ground, sprung traps and parries and misdirects and nearly managed a slash of victory but his son flexed around and dodged that blow and a dozen after.

A quick slash from the side drew Jeralt’s focus. Blade against shaft and Byleth used the momentum to raise his sword high. Too fast for Jeralt to dodge outright - he had to block this. Jeralt jolted the shaft upwards into the blade—the weapons smashed into one another.

Byleth’s sword flew free. His grip too loose. His son wasn’t winning today.

Only for Byleth to duck under the lance and land a square punch to Jeralt’s abdomen. The wind escaped in harsh breath as Jeralt fell back.

_ Clever. _ “OK, you win, whew,” Jeralt admitted. The wooden sword clanged into the stone nearby, narrowly avoiding one of the students. “Good move, but that kind of nonsense wouldn’t work in a real battle.”

“Oh?” Byleth tapped the knife on his belt. His lips flashing a smirk for just a second.

Now Jeralt had to smile at that! “All right, maybe it could work. Too risky for me to recommend it though.” Jeralt looked back at the audience of students, squires, and knights. A good chunk of the on-lookers were impressed, but a fair number wore sour expressions at the surprise lesson. Silent grumbling at the victory. Kingdom glares too common these days. “I can see some of you are unhappy with this. Maybe you think this is dishonorable, maybe you think it’s too dangerous. I’m not here to teach you what honor is. I’m here to teach you how to fight. You don’t have to use what I show you - what we show you - but you can be certain that whatever foes you face will have a different sense of honor than you. Knowing how they could fight is just as important even if you never use it for yourself. Take this in, think it over, come to your own conclusions.” He let his words sink in for a moment. “Dismissed.”

That seemed to mollify a few of the Kingdom brats but that hardened edge of arrogance never went away. Not that he should expect it. Lambert’s death was still too raw, and the “justice” met was sloppy and contentious even in the country. Considering everything it was a miracle the Blue Lions and Black Eagles weren’t brawling every day.

Jeralt waved Byleth over but any sort of plans for the rest of the day were interrupted by the arrival of Alois. “Captain, a word.”

“What is it, Alois?

“Lady Rhea’s called a meeting.”

“Important?”

“She’s called everyone. And I mean everyone. Every holy knight in monastery, all the troop leaders, even the professors…”

That was extreme. Did the Kingdom finally make a move? “I’ll be right there then.”

“Manuela’s participating? That will impede our plans,” said Byleth.

“You had something planned?” Hope she didn’t rope him into something weird. She had a habit of flirting with every man who came her way when the situation wasn’t serious.

“Additional lessons.”

Boy’s hunger for knowledge was almost more than his appetite these days. “Well, I’ll ask. If it ends early I’ll send her to you.”

“I’ll be here then.”

Jeralt nodded and Alois and he left down the halls. Already unease and anxiety were taking over the faces of people they passed. This was war. It had to be.

The main chamber was the fullest he’d ever seen. He and Alois had to walk alongside the outer edges past the columns to make it to their positions. The knights, holy and otherwise, stood in ranks, the professors were at the heads of the ranks nearby Rhea. The archbishop stood at the front of her throne, Seteth ever present at her side. And secreted away were the cardinals themselves.

They weren’t making it obvious. Blending into the ranks of the anonymous holy knights as they were. But the last time he encountered one of them he made damn sure to burn his mannerisms into his mind. That peculiar way of picking his fingernails using his left-hand little finger. That three foot tap and wait, then four taps. Then three with the opposite foot. That was the cardinal for sure.

Where one cardinal went, they all went. He’d seen them but three times in all his long life and each time defined history, and they weren’t around for the Duscur incidents. Whatever was happening now could change the face of Fódlan.

“Jeralt,” said Seteth as Jeralt took his position at the head of the knights. “That’s everyone of importance then. I shall not mince words: Dagda and Brigid have launched an open invasion of the Adrestian Empire.”

When Almyran invaded it was one of those three times he had seen the cardinals. “What’re our orders, then?” Keeping a foreign power at bay would be a nice, simple excursion for the knights after the mess of Duscur. Or as simple as war got.

His steely answer seemed to keep any sort of tension from springing for now, but already he could see the onset of worry on the brows of Professor Manuela and Professor Hanneman. Both of them were from the Empire, even if they’d left it behind.

“Historically the Empire has proven adept at repelling such aggression, but with their forces arrayed near the border of the Kingdom in response to their recent aggressive tendencies, there is appreciable concern a portion of Fodlan’s Fangs could be overtaken.”

_ Dammit Volkhard. _ “So, are we to bolster the Empire’s forces directly or relieve their border forces?”

“Neither.”

“What?!” Jeralt took charge amidst a wave of others. “I know we shouldn’t interfere in Fódlan politics at large but threats beyond the borders are well within our area.” He’d just convinced himself of this!

“I understand your concern, Jeralt,” said Rhea, her voice as soft as she could make it. “The goddess grieves with each senseless death caused by these pagans. But lending the strength of the knights to the Empire would embolden the Western Church even further.”

“And after they sided with the Kingdom,” Manuella scoffed.

Jeralt shook his head. Rhea never cared about this kind of thing. What the Western Church thought, what the Kingdom thought was irrelevant to her. She wasn’t helping the Empire for her own reasons. “So, we’re on standby because of the Western Church’s nonsense?”

Seteth answered with a very public sigh. “The relationship between holy church and Kingdom is tumultuous at best. Aiding the Empire in light of their accusations might see them establish stronger ties with the Western Church. Which would limit our ability to reprimand their aggression in the future.”

_ Ridiculous. _ “Then why are we here if all you’re telling is that we can’t do anything?”

“In light of this situation we wish everyone to make certain that students of the Black Eagle House, or any other House should it come to it, remain within Garreg Mach’s grounds.”

Jeralt scratched his head at the ridiculousness of it all. “We’re not really jailers. If we hold them back won’t this create the divides you want to avoid?”

“We would be remiss not to consider such a scenario,” said Seteth. “But a number of the students here are scions of the western territories of the Empire. Should their parents fall, it would be they who must take up governance whence the invaders are thrown back into the sea. With the school year barely underway few even have the proper instruction to contribute in a meaningful way.”

Preparing for the future, was it? “Why bring us all together for this?” The last time the cardinals were in semi-public like this was when Almyra invaded. If they weren’t intervening this time, why?

“We fully expect that this command will prove unpleasant for many. We wish everyone available to keep an eye open for dissent.” Spying, gotcha. “And… if any member of this institution should find themselves unable to remain impartial to this conflict, they shall be removed from the church so that their actions do not reflect on the holy church as a whole.”

“For those seeking repentance,” said Rhea, “the goddess will always listen.”

Well, that was a clever bit of maneuvering, wasn’t it? “I understand,” said Jeralt.

Rhea held her hands in prayer. “May the goddess watch over all of you.”

“That will be all,” said Seteth. The suddenness of the meeting and its dismissal made perfect sense to certain enough factions.

Alois wasn’t one of them. Out in the hallway, Alois pulled Jeralt aside, the three professors and a handful of other knights joining them as the majority left amid speculation of their own. “Can’t say sitting here doing nothing while people are dying sits well with me,” he said. “Are you fine with this, Captain?” Jeralt gave him a head shake for “no”.

“At the very least a medical team could be sent,” said Manuela. “The Western Church can’t object to that without losing face.” Her fingers were intertwined in hopeful prayer for the people of her homeland. Worry tightened her face and even her dress seemed less slinky than usual.

“This whole situation strikes me as quite preposterous,” said Hanneman. A quiet anger trembling in his words. Grey beard swaying as he spoke. Coat shaking with his restraint. “The Empire’s troops are on full readiness due to the situation with the Kingdom. I’ve heard Count Bergliez spends more time afield than at Enbarr these days.”

“Then why are they invading at all?” asked Professor Cecilia. “They’ve lost before when the Empire was unprepared. Attacking when their armies are on active duty is… foolish.” She was half-hugging herself, pressing arms up against her breastplate. Biting her lip at the whole situation already.

“I believe the Empire’s tariffs on Brigid goods were raised somewhat recently? Even if the Empire’s troops are active they cannot be shifted away from the border so readily.” Hanneman paused a moment, deep in thought as he stroked his beard. “Then, the threat of a Kingdom invasion on the back of it would further slow any Imperial response.”

“They might even be in league with the Kingdom,” Jeralt offered.

“A frightening prospect indeed!”

“Not a likely one, though,” he corrected, “but I never thought I’d be involved in an assassination attempt either.” Bah, burdening them with more bad news wasn’t the way. “Anyway, I’m gonna begin making my preparations.”

“For what, Captain?” Alois asked.

“To go help the Empire, obviously.”

His words slapped shock into each of them. “Err, did I hear you right, Captain?” asked the confused Alois. You’re defying Lady Rhea to go to the Empire?”

“Not alone. I’m gonna round-up anyone who’s interested.” Byleth for sure, maybe Reo, Seth and Cain. Gilbert maybe? Ehhh, probably not. He wasn’t even called to this meeting. Small chance he’d be willing to abandon another home so readily.

Manuela said, “Err, did you miss the part where you’d be expelled for helping? Believe me I want to make sure the death toll is as low as possible but…” Her hands were still in prayer.

“Yeah. But I also heard the part where anyone looking for redemption will be welcomed back.”

What was quick to him now came to anyone else. “You’re saying, they intend for us to aid the Empire?” Hanneman asked.

“If we all go mercenary, it wouldn’t look terrible on the grand stage.”

“Losing that many knights would, though,” said Cecilia.

“It’s a risk the church is willing to take.” Or seemed like. “Alois, you in?”

“After I missed out on Duscur both times? Darn right I am!”

“Anyone else?”

“I think I’ll pass,” said Manuela. “As much as my heart goes out to the victims of this war, someone needs to make sure these kids here don’t get it in their heads to run off and join.”

“I, too, will turn down your offer,” said Hanneman. “Witnessing Imperial Crests in active use would prove fortuitous to my research, but the lack of facilities would only impede any progress I do make.”

“I’ll pass as well,” said Cecilia. “I don’t think they can pull another professor on short notice either.”

About what he expected. It’d take someone damn persuasive to get them outta Garreg Mach and fighting in a war. “I understand. All right, Alois, let’s go grab Byleth then ask around for anyone else interested. Oh, and Professor Manuela, will you have time to finish up your work with my son before we leave?”

“I’ll try and make do but I think most of my time will be spent making sure no one panics.”

He probably wouldn’t be disappointed by it. “I’ll tell him then.”

With everything settled their little gathering separated to undertake their new goals. Along the way the increased anxiety was increasingly obvious on the face of gossipers. The uncertainty of before was replaced with loud whispers and darting eyes as bigger groups congregated. He hoped things wouldn’t get out of hand but history told him otherwise.

The training grounds were busy with shouts as they returned. Byleth was effortlessly holding off a student of the Black Eagles while two Blue Lions were in a scuffle all their own. The Black Eagle attempted to get by, but Byleth twisted his arm around and brought the boy to his knees in a yelp of pain. Meanwhile the Blue Lions went down and dirty and the stronger of the pair pinned the other to the ground.

“Break it up! Break it up!” Jeralt shouted at everyone. The two students on the ground looked wide-spread in horror at the sudden authority. “What’s going on here? Son.” He quickly added the last before the students’ lies came out.

Byleth pointed at the Blue Lion pinned on the ground. “He was attempting a duel. With this one.” Black Eagle. “Insults were hurled, both went for weapons when Glenn and I intervened.”

“You’re a disgrace to the Blue Lions,” Glenn chided his fellow house member. “Letting an Imperial goad you like that? You’ll never become a knight indulging your impulses like that.”

“Leave the punishment for the professors, kid,” Jeralt told him. “Alois, would you mind bringing them to Hanneman and Cecilia?”

“Leave it to me, Captain!” Alois grabbed the two moping brats and hauled them out the doors.

Jeralt shook his head. “Good grief, this is the last thing I needed today.”

“I’ll say,” said Glenn, straightening out his jacket. “They interrupted our second bout.” His dark hair was still slick with sweat from his latest loss to Byleth.

“Thanks for having your head on straight, at least.”

“Think nothing of it. I simply did my knightly duty.” Steely-blue eyes smiling alongside his lips.

If only the rest of the brats had their thoughts as squared away as Glenn Canas Fraldarius. “Anyway.” He faced Byleth again. “Sorry, kid. Manuela’s gonna be plenty busy, your lessons are probably gonna be cut short.”

“All right.” He blinked a few times. “Is something wrong?”

He was sharp when he wanted to be… “Yeah, but…” He glanced a second at Glenn. “It’s something private.”

The Kingdom boy smirked at the idea. “I knew it. All it took was a single look outside to see a fouler mood than usual. Something significant is happening. Tell me, has the Kingdom invaded the Empire? Or finished what it started in Duscur? Maybe the Empire’s struck first.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“News such as this seldom stays hidden. How difficult did you find it to obscure your role in Tragedy and punishment? It will reach my ears before long, you may as well save time.”

Jeralt sighed at the accusation. The brat was right enough. “Dagda and Brigid have invaded the Empire.”

He nearly stumbled at the idea. “Not the news I expected.”

“No one did.”

“And what is the church’s response? Are you leading the Knights of Seiros to help fend off this invasion?”

“No,” Jeralt flatly replied. “The church is to have no involvement in this matter.”

Wide-eyed shock took him. “Then what are you preparing for?”

“Keeping the Black Eagles from running home to mommy and daddy thinking they can make a difference.”

Glenn stepped closer, a smirk replaced his shock and it grew wider with every step. “Hardly something a man of your calibur needs to busy himself with. I don’t know how, but you’re planning on helping the Empire, aren’t you? I want in.”

What a ridiculous kid… “Even if we were helping the Empire, a Kingdom student fighting in that war would just complicate things.”

“My home matters not to my duty as a knight. There are innocents in peril, to turn a blind eye when I can offer a shield is immoral. I was not there for Duscur - twice. I’ll not allow a third tragedy to pass by without action.”

Half the time he made sense, the other half he was purest the Kingdom got. “That kind of… concern is… touching, really. But we’re staying here.”

“Really, do you think you’ll be able to garner provisions beneath my notice? Save yourself the breath and admit it as well. Then save ourselves some arguing and just allow my allegiance. I’ll follow you or strike out on my own regardless.”

“That kind of thinking is gonna get you in a lot of trouble as Duke Fraldarius…”

“Trouble from ne’er-do-wells and villains only.”

_ No, it’s that simplistic world view.  _ “The orders were clear, no one from any house is allowed to go gallivanting off. All I have to do blab to Seteth and you’d be locked in your room until we left. This isn’t some simple bandit hunt, kid, this is war..”

Glenn scoffed. “I’ve cut down bandits aplenty and clashed with rebels time and again. None here among the students has more blood whetting their saber than I.”

“Certainly thinking highly of yourself, huh?” Jeralt crossed his arms.

“Not as highly as I regard you and your son. The professors, the students, the actual combat instructor. None of them match your skill, or his. He’s the only one here I enjoy locking blades with.”

“Even when I win every time?” Byleth suddenly spoke up.

“Precisely why. One learns more in defeat than victory.”

“He’s not as strong as Cassandra, but he’s the best since her.”

Was he actually condoning this? That was almost worth the headache of this whole thing. “You’re taking this too simply. Not thinking about the consequences.”

“Such as?” asked Glenn.

Might as well end it. “We aren’t being officially dispatched. Relations with the Kingdom are troubled as is. The church can’t afford to show favorites. Anyone who goes… goes knowing they aren’t a part of the church any longer.”

“By the Sword of Kyphon…”

“Bringing someone of your station with us? Just makes it all the worse.”

“Or all the better.” Straight eagerness conquered him. “A Kingdom noble fighting to defend the innocents of the Empire would do much to mollify relations.”

Did he have any idea about the Empire being responsible?  _ _ “And a Kingdom noble dying on Imperial soil would push closer to all-out war.”

“Then I simply need not die.”

That’s the kind of arrogance the Officers Academy was supposed to beat out of him. “You’re taking this too lightly.”

“No, I take it seriously enough.” Glenn affixed himself a hard glare. “I squired under my father for a time. There’s this city in Gideon territory, Reigh. My father and I were billating whilst on a tour of the troubled territories. During the night a detachment of anti-regent rebels besieged it. Two weeks we fought them. I saw dead pave the road like bricks and gutters overflowing red. My father sent me here, sent me earlier than tradition would dictate so I would avoid being victim of another such attack. I’ve seen more of war than half the knights here, I assure you. I know it precisely, and why it must be stopped.”

“If your father sent you here to avoid war, you really think rushing to another is a good idea?”

“No war is a good idea. But I’ll swear my sword to the cause that ends it soonest.”

Jeralt fought back a laugh. “You think your sword’s gonna end the war so much sooner?”

“How many men do you think you can muster? A hundred at best? Take every swordarm you can.”

“Let’s take him,” said Byleth, earning a full smile from Glenn.

“You can’t be serious,” said Jeralt. The ever-stoic appearance of his son said he was. Unbelievable. Well, if he did die at least Jeralt finally had a probable reason to leave the church. Ugh, what the hell was he thinking? “You know what this entails, leaving the Academy like this? Disobeying your father? You’re putting your future in jeopardy.”

“My future?” Glenn chuckled. “My fiancée who’d welcome me gladly and I’ve no small skill with the blade and a Crest besides. I could become a knight errant with little trouble.”

_ Taking this too lightly…  _ “If you come you stick by Byleth’s side. You act closer than brothers, you got this? If it comes to it, if it’s between surviving and bailing me out, bailing him out, saving some random commoner - you run.  _ You survive _ . None of that Kingdom duty, you understand?”

“Absolutely.” Smile too much of a smirk to be true.

“You go against my orders and I will knock you out and send you straight back here. I’ll make sure of it. You listen to me on everything. The attitude you’re giving me right now? Stops dead.” Jeralt hardened himself as much as possible. The confidence of Glenn shook for just a moment.

“No.” Jeralt raised an eyebrow at that. “I’ll not be some mindless stooge. If you intend anything immoral I will stand up to you.”

Jeralt let a grin slip just a bit. “Good. That kind of mindless acceptance of orders is what led to something like the punishment in the first place. But there is a time and a place for airing your grievances.” Something he’d be doing with Rhea soon enough. “Even if I’m wrong, I will send you back, you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Gather your gear and send off your letters. Make sure there’s nothing tying you to the Kingdom at all.” This was a terrible idea. Really, the best thing would be to tell Seteth and let him handle it. 

“They won’t know what hit them,” said Byleth.

“You and I? They won’t stand a chance.”

He was the closest thing to a friend Byleth ever had.

* * *

Glenn went off to undertake his own preparations while Byleth and Jeralt reunited with Alois. The three (two, really) hashed out a list of interested parties and went about extending invitations. It took all daylight but everyone was ready and assembled in the training grounds. Fifty men and women assembled in the torchlight. “All right people, first, I’d like to thank you for coming. You’ve heard, from one of us or someone else or maybe even realized the truth yourself, but Fódlan is at war again.”

“Dagda and Brigid have invaded the western reaches of the Adrestian Empire. With the border tensions between the Empire and Kingdom, the Empire’s ability to defend itself has been diminished. The root cause of that tension, the Tragedy of Duscur, has placed the Central Church in a precarious position between the Kingdom, Empire and Western Church. Because of this, the Church of Seiros is unable to send formal aid to the Empire in repelling these foreign threats.”

“So. I quit. I’m going south with my son and we’re gonna throw the invaders back into the sea on our own volition. Anyone who follows us has to forsake their oaths. Maybe even forsake returning to Garreg Mach ever again.” He couldn’t reveal the implications. These people had to know going in the worse case scenario in case he was reading the entire scenario wrong. “Anyone who comes south gets their way paid for by me. Provisions, equipment, traveling gear. I was a mercenary once and I remember that business well. Anyone who follows us should know we will get there. I can’t guarantee we come back but we will get there.”

It wasn’t a speech intending to raise moral. It was to weed out the uncertain. Some knights and squires exchanged words, and about ten in total left.

“Are you certain?” Jeralt asked. Plenty of familiar faces in the crowd. Glenn was there, the only student. There was Seth, and Cain and Barst. Reo even.

“Captain,” Alois stepped forward. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say: yes.”

“I can pay your way, but I can’t pay you. Those of you with families, do you understand that? We can get work, mercenaries are gonna be in high demand. But this isn’t gonna be glamorous knight work. It will be down and dirty and we’ll be tools of nobles who consider us just a cut above the enemy.”

“Aye Captain!” Alois said, earning a chorus behind him.

His subordinates were too good for him. “Everyone make sure your affairs are in order and to get me a list of equipment. I’ll settle payment on my end.” The gathered crowd acknowledged this order and went off to fulfill it. Alois, Byleth and him all that remained.

Jeralt faced his old squire. “You sure you want to come? I know your family’s gonna miss you.”

“My daughter’s big enough to not miss Daddy too much.”

“Good to have you at my back, Alois.”

“Always, Captain.”

Looking like they were numbering forty-three. Four teams of ten. Byleth and Alois leading two, and Jeralt attaching when necessary. “I’m thinking Cain and Barst for the other troops’ commanders.”

“Good choices. Reo’s better off as a second-in-command.”

“Well, I’ll give it a good night’s sleep and think it over some more. I’ll see about learning a thing or two on Dagda and Brigid when I have the time.” Library had plenty of books that could be useful.

“Hope old Tomas’s replacement is better for you than me,” said Alois. “He can’t find a single fishing book!” Why the church hired someone who couldn’t do that was beyond him. Maybe he’d be back from his trip to Ordellia territory by the time Jeralt returned.

If he returned.

* * *

Over the next few days Jeralt and Byleth prepared their erstwhile new command for departure. At the marketplace they put in orders for food, weapons, armor, camping supplies and boots and everything else a battalion on the move needed. None of it paid by the church, all of it from Jeralt’s own coffers. Which meant church gold was paying for it in the end anyway. Stupid political nonsense.

News of the war was eventually announced in full across the grounds. Panic and fear gripping the students and misery overtaking the adults. Tensions between Black Eagles and Blue Lions grew ever fiercer. Accusations and calls against one another for actions neither had undertaken. The professors and knights kept the peace, but more than once a student ended up in the infirmary. Rhea’s calls for peace heeded, if only reluctantly.

On the fourth day after the decision, Father and Son were outfitting themselves in armor without any designations. It wasn’t like the trip to Faerghus years ago. Combat was expected and he wasn’t skimping out in preparation. The white armor both kept replaced with dark grey for father and black for son.

The two of them stepped back into the fairly busy marketplace and—”Hey, hey, isn’t that Jeralt I see?!”

“Hello Cassandra. Hello Christophe.” He said before even looking at them. The two of them had grown even more inseparable since the Tragedy of Duscur. “What are you doing here?”

“Just boring diplomatic work,” she said. All too cheery for someone with only a single arm and eye. “Maybe that can be fixed…” A cape now hung from her left side, completely covering where her arm once was. A dark blue eyepatch covered up the left side of her face, where her bangs fell free. The right side of her hair was more cared for, and tied back somewhat. The armor she wore was heavier than before. Reinforced with chainmail under the plates. Thunderbrand in its scabbard behind her back.

“No,” Christophe cut her off. In some ways he actually looked worse than she did. His cheeks had sunk hollow, he was pale like the dead and the bags beneath his eyes were dark as night. He was sweaty and greasy and his dark hair was an utter mess. Even the straps on his armor were half done at spots. 

“You gonna stop me?”

“I’m gonna stop you,” Jeralt put his foot down. “I’m not here to fight. And you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

“How am I supposed to get better if I don’t train?”

“You’ve had three years, you’re as comfortable as it gets.” Jeralt crossed his arms. “You’re probably here for something important so out with it.”

“We’re here to put pressure on Central to avoid assisting the Empire,” said Christophe, tired disgust rising in his face.

Jeralt groaned in disgust himself. “I can’t believe they’ve got you two playing a knife against the neck.”

“I agree.” Christophe’s features hardened. “Sham evidence, entirely against your testimonies? Regent Rufus should be removed from power entirely. Not threatening an organization that helped prevent a massacre.”

Not that he disagreed. “Keep that kind of talk down. That’ll get you in trouble even here.”

“Then where?” he hissed out. “Where is justice?”

“That’s not something I can answer.”

“You’re not the only one.” Christophe turned downwards. 

And Cassandra threw her arm around him. “It’s just doom and gloom from him all the time now. It’s a real mood killer.”

“At least I take this seriously!”

“I take this plenty serious. I just don’t let it rule me.”

“If you want to do something, join us,” Byleth said.

“With what?” her face lit up.

“With nothing,” Jeralt sharply said.

Cassandra looked them over. “That sure is equipment not bearing the Crest of Seiros. Reminds me of three years ago.”

_ Unbelievable _ . “Just fitting it out.”

Cassandra’s smile spread wide. “Sure you are. But if my old teacher is suddenly busy elsewhere, I’d have no choice but to follow him and not instigate my other task.”

_ I wasn’t your teacher…  _ “Are you seriously offering to not deliver official sanctions... because you want to travel with us? Without any idea where we’re going?” The sheer level of political blunder that would ensue could be worse than Glenn dying.

“I know exactly where you’re going.”

“That just makes it worse.”

Christophe shouted at her, “The last time you did something so reckless it cost you half your body!” Attention arose from sellers and buyers. 

“I’ve still got half, got Thunderbrand, and I’ve got you.”

“I’m not worth half of you…”

_ Jeez kid, get some self-respect. _ Jeralt said, “You graduated from the Officers Academy same as her. You wouldn’t be standing here if you weren’t capable.”

“With no Relic? No way to stop the regent from taxing people into poverty? Some days we barely make sure Gaspard territory runs.”

“And you’re doing a better job than half the Kingdom,” Cassandra said. “Your father even adopted some kids, right?”

“Three kids out of how many without homes? It’s not enough. Something needs to be done.”

This needed to stop now. “If you beat yourself up for everyone you couldn’t save you do a disservice to those you did. Live and do. Wallowing in what didn’t happen benefits no one.”

“How many times have you repeated those words?” Desperate blame cracking his voice. “Do you lose a night’s sleep over Duscur?”

“No, I don’t.” That was far from the worst massacre he’d been a part of. “Because I survived and brought word that a third party was blameless in the attack. Because the people I helped save made sure the Duscur weren’t exterminated for something they didn’t do.”

“That’s… Then what have I done?”

“If you’d not come with reinforcements we might not have made it out.”

“That was only because of my incompetence!”

“No,” Byleth said, “I left you for my own reasons.”

“And he won’t listen to me half the time either,” Jeralt added.

“Stop… stop trying to forgive me.”

“The goddess is about forgiveness for those who want it.”

“I…” A bit of color, a bit of edge returned to the man. “I would be honored to accompany you, Sir Jeralt.”

Exactly what he didn’t want, but entirely where this conversation was going. “I appreciate the gesture, I do. But c’mon… this is a war you’re asking to join…”

“Man,” said Cassandra, her smile gone wide, I’ve been trying to break him out of this funk for years and you do it in one conversation. I’m jealous.”

“Envious,” Byleth (probably) corrected.

“Details. But what do you say, Jeralt?” She leaned in. “Got space in your private group for two crazy kids wanting to swing their swords in the name of justice?”

“Your aid would be appreciated, but I can't accept it. If Thunderbrand flashes across the battlefield what would the Imperial army think?”

“‘Wow she’s so strong! We can’t detain her!’” She smirked. “I hope!”

This was gonna be stupid. “You know what. I will. If you two are serious I’ll take you with us.” He’d already failed to stop Glenn, may as well make this as huge a diplomatic snarl as he could manage.

“I’m as serious as this about anything.”

“This time I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble,” said Christophe.

“Should I be expecting a ring sometime soon, Christophe?”

“One day with you is difficult enough. The rest of our lives is out of the question.”

The two of them laughed at their situation. He missed these two. Would miss them. “Get yourselves suited up in neutral colors.” Not that neutral colors would hide a Kingdom Relic. “And, uh, come up with some sort of alias.” Not that it would help if she swung Thunderbrand around but whatever they could get. “We’re probably gonna be on the march tomorrow.”

“And I just made a name for myself as Thunderstrike Cassandra,” she groaned.

“No, you didn’t,” said Christophe.

There was a small smattering of details after that before they scattered towards their new undertaking.

“It’s a good idea to bring them,” said Byleth.

“I’m gonna disagree with you there,” said Jeralt. “Lady Rhea’s gonna be harder to convince. Just bringing you alone is gonna be hard fought.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? “Because… you’re special to her.”

“That’s why she gives me private lessons?”

“She what?” Jeralt stopped dead in his tracks. And sighed. He couldn’t keep his eyes on the kid all the time. Of course she’d get him.

Byleth stopped. “I’ll stop, if you want.”

Jeralt resumed walking, the two of them did. “No.. just… what does she talk about?”

“The faith. The tenants. The goddess. The history. Swords, brawling, reason and faith.”

She was teaching him to fight?! He knew Rhea could handle herself but to personally give lessons was… unprecedented. “Does she do anything that makes you uncomfortable?”

“No.” He paused to consider something. “She never calls me by name. But you don’t use my name much either.”

“Errr… sorry, Byleth.”

“It doesn’t bother me, Jeralt.” Was that a joke? “You’re smiling.”

“Maybe I am.” These slight flashes of humanity were brilliant to see. “But enough about that… What do you think about Cassandra and Cristophe as the other troop leaders?”

“You’re giving Cassandra a leadership position?”

“She’s got enough personality to lead and she’ll obey orders if it’s someone she trusts. Which is everyone else in command.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Care even without tone.

“Subdue her.”

Byleth slowly nodded. “Surpassing a Hero’s Relic with my own power…” His lips tweaked upwards for just a blink. Was he excited for this?

It was a thought resting in his mind as they underwent the rest of their preparations. Equipment was ready, as well as informing the soon-to-be-excommunicated knights and student of the sudden arrival and assistance of Cassandra and Christophe. There were a lot of accepting nods, some disagreement and Glenn’s bright glee at the idea.

There were two final things before they could depart.

There were already flowers on Marigold’s grave. Byleth beat him to it. It was even a better offering than Jeralt had.

Then finally came telling Rhea what she already knew.

She and Seteth stood in front of her throne. “Lady Rhea, Seteth. I’m sure you’re well aware of my actions this past few days. But the time has come to formally tender my resignation as captain of the Knights of Seiros.”

Rhea solemnly nodded. “It fills my heart with grief to hear those words from your lips, Jeralt.”

“For what purpose have you decided to leave our service?” asked Seteth.

“The situation in the Empire calls to me. The church’s teachings demand I act, but I’ll not endanger everyone within the organization for my own whims.” Jeralt retrieved a roll of names. “This list contains every person who’s agreed to come with me to repel the foreign invasion from Fódlan’s shores.”

He handed the list off to Seteth. “Most of these are acceptable, but Glenn Fraldarius is a student. And how ever did Cassandra Charon and Christophe Gaspard get on here?”

“Glenn’s the type who’d follow even if you told him no or try to restrain him. I’ll make sure he’s by my kid’s side all the time. Cassandra and Christophe I ran into during a trip to the market and ‘convinced’ them it’d be better to follow me rather than deliver a threat from the Kingdom about making sure the church doesn’t get involved.”

Rhea’s features sharpened like a sword. “It would seem the regent forgets his place.”

“Or it’s the place he always wanted.”

“The crown prince is too young to act out against his uncle,” said Seteth. “Once the boy has some political authority, relations with the Kingdom should resume amiably.”

“But until then we have to keep them happy.”  _ Or less miserable. _

“And you’ve considered the consequences of Kingdom nobility fighting for the Empire, have you?”

Rhea said, “If Thunderbrand were to fall into the Empire’s hands there would be no telling what calamity that may bring.”

“They’re aware, yes,” said Jeralt. “But I’m hoping that the assistance we offer is a better idea than instigating a two-front war.”  _ Or three front. Whichever. _

“It is a great risk,” said Rhea. “With your dear child there too, I do not think your attention could focus on all important matters at once.”

“My kid can take care of himself these days.”

“The last time I permitted him to leave the monastery grounds he was nearly slain.”

“He was thirteen then. He’s twice the height and three times the swordsmen. He even beat me, just the other day. If anything I want him there to make sure  _ I _ come back safe.”

“Your belief in your child is dear, but the battlefield is unpredictable. Wild, even for men of skill such as yourselves.”

Jeralt conceded a nod at that. “We all know the students are sent out on dangerous missions. Sure, most are older than he is, but he can beat anyone in this year’s student body. And all of those kids has gone out bandit hunting by this point.”

“You must choose, Jeralt. Your son, or Glenn, Cassandra and Christophe. It would ill-benefit the goddess for all such precious beings to be in jeopardy.”

What was so special about Byleth? What had she done to be so concerned with him? Was it the Crest? He kept Hanneman from researching his son precisely to keep that hidden. But Rhea had to know at this point. “Have you missed the entire point of this conversation, Lady Rhea?”

“What do you mean?” Tone sharp enough to cut steel now.

“I don’t have to follow your commands any more.”

“If you insist on treading this path without care for the wellbeing of your son I will not allow it.” There it was. Face contorted into guise of utter fury. His son’s jailer made manifest. He should have left that day. Never see her face like this again. “The goddess will not condone such mindless disregard for his life.”

“I agree with Rhea on this course,” Seteth added. “This is not a time for the untested. The academy starts with bandits for a reason.” Guess three years ago was a fluke.

“If you intend to restrain me, my son, be done with it for all our sakes. But what do you think is going to happen if you lock us up here?”

Rhea’s fury cooled to a down face. “Do you find our holy institution so reprehensible these days, Jeralt? Does the light of the goddess no longer shine in your eyes?”

_ Not the time for fire. _ “Forgive my lack of manners, Lady Rhea. Every year my son encounters new people, new students. All leave him. Myself, our professors and your honored selves are near all he has for stability. When the punishment of Duscur was underway he was fraught with concern for Cassandra and Christophe. This would be the same. Worse even. He would follow us regardless, and I think no one could stop him. Even should you imprison him.”

Rhea softened her response, “I understand your concerns, your hopes, your dreams for your dear child, Jeralt. His skills are beyond question. But even still he has yet to even enter the Officers Academy. If this were but two years later I would bid him go with the goddess’s blessing but as of now he is still too untrained.”

_ No such words for Glenn. _ “He has graduated five times already in effect. Only a handful through his years have matched him. He’s as ready as ever. A time through the Officers Academy won’t change that.”

“Do you think so little of the other professors?”

“I meant no offense. But the very day news of this invasion was brought to my ears, my son defeated me. And after it, Glenn Fraldarius. Cassandra’s been asking for a spar the moment she could. He’s ready to act for the will of the goddess.” Hidden as that will was. “If only you let him.”

“And…” He took a deep breath. “This may be the best chance to catch the instigators of Duscur, and whoever wounded my son in Fhirdiad.”

“The pale men?” asked Seteth.

“Our investigations into both showed nothing,” said Rhea. “What makes you think you can accomplish what those skilled in the art of deception could not?”

“Because my son was the victim. If by chance he should cross paths with the perpetrator, I hope it wakes his memories.”

“That is an incredible unlikelihood.”

He nodded. “I know it’s a longshot. But it may be the only way we can find out who’s behind the events. If it’s the Empire at all.”

Rhea nodded deep in her own thoughts, letting Seteth resume the lead. “The church’s actions across Fódlan are done in full accordance with the local governments. Black Eagles acting in the Kingdom; Blue Lions in the Alliance and Golden Deer in the Empire. Should you embark on this path you will have no coverage, no legitimacy. No protection from the goddess.”

“My time as a mercenary may be long ago but I’m still a practiced hand with authorities and leadership.”

Rhea conceded a nod. “You have indeed proven your resilience in this conversation. But we would also never wish harm upon you. The same cannot be said of the Empire.”

“If the Empire starts killing Fódlans while they’re being invaded they’ll lose a lot of support.” Even while the church’s executions were witnessed to no criticism.

“It is still an incredible risk.”

“Letting Brigid and Dagda go unopposed is a bigger one.”

“I’ve never known you as one for hubris Jeralt,” said Rhea. “Do you think your small scroll of men are enough to turn the tide of a war?”

“In the right position? One person can make a difference. Forty: a lot.”

A slight flicker of a smile ran across Seteth’s lips at that. “I will leave this decision in the hands of the archbishop. However, for my piece, I am still against it.”

“Thank you for your counsel, Seteth,” said Rhea, returned to form after her thoughts. “Jeralt, we have known each other for so long. I know more than any other the strength of arms you possess. But your dear sweet child is still unaccustomed to the world. Should you perish in these times, what would become of him?”

“He’ll have Alois, or Cassandra or Christophe or Seth or any other member coming with us. Even alone, I trust my son to be able to handle himself. Or at least, return to you.” Maybe he wasn’t so great a father, arguing to bring his son to war. But he was still some father dammit! “I know this isn’t perfect, but one day he will be out fighting like this. Better for him to know how now, when the worst is here. To know what to protect.”

“War is not something anyone should experience. Or hope for.”

“And we’re not so naive to believe the peace between Kingdom and Empire will last.” They would have to take a side, one day. The Alliance alone could not help ensure their neutrality.

Rhea was on the verge of a sigh at the implication. Everything she’d done for peace was so easily undone. “Promise… the goddess, that one day you will return.” Her hands clapped hard in prayer. Tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

“I do solemnly swear, upon my name, Jeralt Reus Eisner, that I will do everything in my power to return my son and myself and all under our command alive.”

“Go, Jeralt, go and find victory.”

“At once, Lady Rhea.” He turned away from the bafflement of Seteth and concesion of Rhea. He had to leave. Leave before her mind swayed back.

Conversations like these, victories like these, or her answering his pleas about Duscur… they made it so easy to lower his guard. Rhea was not a monster of any kind, but she had her agenda and a hundred years of keeping the church a neutral power made her a master of the game. She knew how to manipulate her rules when it made the most sense. All things done in accordance with the will of the goddess and she was her voice. When it was on his side he appreciated her arbitration, but now that it was a constant set of control with his son’s future on the line she was someone to be wary of. Certainly someone in the list was a spy, as the spies in Fhirdiad kept eyes on them at all times save when they should have.

But she agreed because finding out the truth of Fhirdiad and Duscur was worth the risk. It would be the perfect chance to finally hunt down Volkhard von Arundel and beat answers from his slimy face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A TS to this war probably wasn't what most were expecting, huh?
> 
> Also, NaNo came and went and I finished Broken Blade entirely so (hopefully) weekly updates until Broken Blade itself is actually finished! Then unto Byleth's perspective and Three Houses proper.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt and his new mercenaries travel through Remire Village to the Empire and get a brand new name.

**Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The first step on their little band’s journey was Remire Village. Even with its proximity to Garreg Mach the farming village had never been all that prosperous and the ongoing tensions between the Empire and the Kingdom had made things even worse. Half the population had fled, and Jeralt couldn’t blame them. Even this close to the border he couldn’t see the Empire diverting troops to save a farming village with less than a thousand people in it. The people would rather take the risk traveling and settling elsewhere than be on the frontline of a war.

With half the people the other half had to work twice as hard just maintaining their fields. Which meant there wasn’t much time for keeping the village infrastructure in tact. The roads had become nothing more than well-traveled dirt paths marked by holes and ditches every third step. The wall was nothing more than a knee-high mound of dirt. Half the houses were showing signs of damage: broken windows, shattered boards, collapsed roofs and scorch marks.

Which was too much damage just for a lack of repair. Remire had been hit by bandits, and no one had done anything about it.

The half of the village still occupied was barely better off. The windows were cracked, but still there, the roofs leaky but whole and there was some semblance of roadwork in stone steps. The villagers shot him hard glares when he came up to discuss the situation. Though the houses were better off than their lower tier counterparts, most of them still had the injuries of attack prefacing their structure. The windmill barely spun, half the wells were collapsed.

They’d just have to fix that.

He hoped to just get permission to camp outside limits, but with all the empty houses they could fit the entire group in with no difficulty. It took some haggling with the village leader, but Jeralt was able to convince him to let the mercenaries stay in the town limits in return for repair work.

Not just taking care of the bandits either. He directed his band of followers to go about easing the burdens of the villagefolk as much as possible. Some of the knights grumbled, of course. This kind of thing was done by squires and commoner infantry, not the glorious former Knights of Seiros—which he was damn quick to remind them off. This was the kind of work they’d be signing on for. They needed to get used to it now.

With able sets of hands the villagers directed the mercenaries to repairs. Cutting trees, making them into boards to repair the damaged homes. Gathering the thatch and stone to repair roofs and floors. Clearing out the wells again, making sure the windmills innards were working all correct.

Then came making sure nothing else happened after they left. Duscur was proof enough that all the Kingdom honor and chivalry didn’t apply if they felt slighted. If war came, they’d attack, and defenseless civilians or not Remire would be a target. They had to defend themselves as much as they could manage. Jeralt set up a rotation to train the healthy men and women as a militia, even the kids getting a few lessons because it wouldn’t hurt. Byleth proved surprisingly adept at it, when Jeralt wasn’t taking the lead. The stoic nature of his son was received better here then the actual Officers Academy.

Cassandra, Christophe, Alois and even Glenn all rotated in to giving instructions to the militia. None of the villagers ever got good with a sword, but they could put out a pretty mean stab with their pitchforks at least. The few hunters they had already knew how to aim, so teaching them to teach the others became that matter of course. Maybe a fifth of those who took up the bow could hit a target but it was better than nothing. If bandits did attack, they might have a chance on their own, at least.

While that was going on, Jeralt also led a reconstruction of the villages defenses. The buildings were nestled in a valley opposite a river, using it as a moat, more or less, with the dirt wall on the village-side. It wouldn’t do much against a determined foe, so they set about bolstering it up. They had to start with reinforcing the river sides so any work didn’t just fall into the water. Bringing the wall up as tall as Jeralt, flattening the top and putting up some wooden scaffolding and fencework to make it a pain to try and climb it from outside. With only a single bridge into town a decent defense could be mustered when it came to it.

They added on some watchtowers too, for good measure. Two on the inside of the village itself, near the far ends of the walls along with one afield for scouting purposes. There was a lot of brush on the outskirts that a sneak thief could use. 

It all proved useful when the bandits did come calling. Barely more than twenty. All their weapons were rusted and chipped. Deserters, or desperate men, didn’t matter. A demand to surrender was ignored. So they ran the bandits down. Between Jeralt’s group and the militia they took all of them down without a single fatality.

All the dour looks and glares that had slowly faded during the week where replaced entirely with big fat grins and cheers. Jeralt turned down a feast in their honor, no use in wasting food like that. 

The win was a good morale booster too. Aside from Christophe and Glenn a lot of the men were getting antsy about aiding a tiny village against bandits when they came to fight a war. Even if it wasn’t a feast, there was enough of a festival that Jeralt had to lay down some rules about not spending the entire night drinking and dancing.

Most of his little command staff set up in the inn. Still maintained despite the lose of people. The same inn from four years ago. Just like then a creak in the floorboards sent Jeralt reaching for his lance. This time it was only a simple mouse. He had to laugh at that. A knock at the door. “It’s me,” Byleth said through the wood.

Jeralt got up and let his kid in. Who’d butchered another new coat to open up the upper sleeves. “I’m gonna stop paying for new clothes if all you’re gonna do is wreck them.”

Byleth just nodded and the two went back inside. “What’s wrong? The dreams?”

“The war. But no. It’s about when we were in Fhirdiad.”

“Still can’t remember anything?”

“I remember snow. But that can’t be true.” Dry as summer when Jeralt got back. “Are we leaving because of what happened there?”

Kid was always sharp. “What brought this on?”

“This village recalls memories.”

“Well…” Jeralt debated the truth within for a moment and settled. “If it happens that going south finds the perpetrator, then that’s a lucky break for us.”

Byleth started for a few moments. “I see.”

Was he interested in the truth? It was always damn impossible to tell. “Do you want to find out who stabbed you?”

“No.”

He should be surprised but he still was. “Why not?”

“I don’t know why.”

Jeralt scratched the back of his head. There wasn’t much he could do here. “Well, maybe you’ll find something along the way. Like… you looked fine when you were teaching?”

“The villagers gripe less than the students.”

That was for sure. When you’re entire life is spent being told you’re better than everyone else it’s hard to accept teachers. Even Cassandra was full of herself even if she was friendlier about it. “Maybe we can come back here one day.” The idea didn’t elicit any reaction from Byleth. “Now get to bed. Can’t have one of my lieutenants marching about half-asleep.” Byleth nodded and left, leaving Jeralt to recall the past.

He focused his mind on piecing together what happened in Fhirdiad so long ago. Volkhard had vanished. Byleth had been injured. Volkhard had to know about Duscur, he was gone by the time Jeralt returned to the city. Well in advance of when anyone should know. But there was no reason for Byleth to go looking for him. Nor was he found collapsed near the exile’s estate either. He’d been found in the Fhirdiad Castle grounds. A stab to the shoulder and a heavy beating to the face. Not a single piece of evidence as to who assaulted his son.

Beyond Volkhard the only thing close to a lead was the Western Church. But if they’d been behind the attack there were too many things inconsistent. Why hurt, instead of kill? Why hurt instead of kidnap? Why make no noise about the action entirely?

There existed the chance of just random violence but such a thing didn’t sit well. So, he focused on what he could. And what was beyond reach. When Volkhard left the Kingdom he returned to Enbarr, the Imperial Capital and never, ever left. Not even when his territory was being threatened by the Kingdom. Just another mystery to solve.

Which led to the stab wound Byleth received… which healed without scarring. There were some Crests that could restore one's life. Ceathleann, or Reigan. But Marigold was most assuredly neither of those and the Crest of Seiros Jeralt had couldn’t account for it. It was some unknown Crest. Whichever one it was, surely had to be the reason Rhea was so interested in him. He’d kept Hanneman from investigating for years. Maybe it was finally time to make sure the plans were utterly undone and just leave.

The anxiety troubled his sleep.

So long when morning struck a slight headache was forming. The last thing he needed.

The whole of their group was gathered back at the village’s outer wall. The villagefolk gathered around to see them off.

“All right people, we’re moving out.”

“Where are we headed, Captain?” asked Alois.

“City of Valm. I’ve heard it’s where Count Bergliez was stationed.”

“What if he isn’t?” Alois wasn’t alone in looking worried.

“Well, whoever’s left in charge would be trusted enough to get us a recommendation to the count. Lean on our rep a bit and a meeting shouldn’t be too hard to get.” And from Bergliez, to Arundel.

“Right on then! Move out… errr… hmmm, we’re not the Knights of Seiros anymore, are we?”

“That’s right.”

“Then we need a new name!” Cassndra threw herself into the conversation. “A real tough name that’ll get us taken seriously.” She got a few nods from others.

“Anyone got any ideas?” He didn’t particularly care but if they did, why not?

A couple threw up some. Nothing particularly good.

“I know,” Cassandra shouted, “how about the Broken Blade mercenaries?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Was it a play on his title?

“Well, are you familiar with the Kingdom’s dagger custom?”

“Yeah, cutting your own future and whatnot.”

“Exactly. See, we’ll be ‘breaking’ the future that Dagda and Brigid want to make.”

“I… guess that makes sense.” _ In a really tortured way. _ “Shouldn’t we be Dagger Breakers, then?”

“Well, blades are more imposing than daggers…”

“Then we’d just end up with fifty-odd ‘Blade Breakers’. OK, I see your point. Anyone else got a better idea?”

Everyone else offered even worse examples or shrugged and went along with it. “All right, then. Broken Blade it is. Move out!”

“Here comes the Broken Blade, oh yeah!” she cheered as they began their first march.

* * *

Second day of their trip to Valm was already rife with eagerness. Despite being well north of where any combat would be occurring, half the ‘Broken Blade’ were still willing to march in their armor. They didn’t complain or grumble or lessen their pace west at all, so Jeralt let it slide. It might impact them in the future, but for now, .

The forested road they walked through was well-traveled enough to get a road of wooden planks. A boon for a group like them. The weather was clear, but if it had rained on pure dirt roads their entire column would be held up to drag out the wagons from mud.

Jeralt rode at the head of their whole column listened to Glenn share stories with Byleth behind him. The state of the Kingdom as a result of the war - bad - his own affairs back at home and even his love life. Kid had been engaged since his fiancée's birth. That was the Kingdom for you.

Byleth didn’t have much to share back but the other kid listened intently anyway.

Christophe rode up next to him, initiating a conversation, “Captain… I’d just like to say… thanks.”

“What for?”

“For helping those people.”

“Well, we got free lodging out of it so it wasn’t pure altruism.”

“That’s still better than most I’ve seen the past few years…”

Jeralt hadn’t been back to Faerghus since the punishment. Everything that filtered in was terrible and worse. Someone has sensitive as Christophe living it… well, it made sense he looked half-dead. “So, what have you been doing about it?”

“I…” Christophe looked away. “Nothing.”

“Cassandra said something about your father adopting some kids, that’s not nothing.”

He sighed at the idea. “I… enjoy my new brothers, my new sister. They’re good kids. Bright and cheery despite everything. Ashe, the oldest, is one of the sweetest boys I’ve ever met. But…” He shook his head. “It never feels like enough. It feels like I should be doing more. But I’ve seen what happens to those who defy the regent. It’s… nice… to actually do something to improve people’s lives.”

Even if the regent was still threatening them? Though he’d keep that thought to himself. “Well, you’re always welcome to join us on knight business when you stop by.” Anything they could be doing was easily less ridiculous than these circumstances.”

“Maybe…” Christophe paused for a moment. His eyes twitching in some form of indecision. “Jeralt—”

—“Something’s wrong,” Byleth cut in.

“What is it?” Couldn’t be Brigid or Dagda this far north. Bandits? Again?

“It’s—” arrows came flying in from the north! Hits to armored glanced off but the wagon drivers got an arm stuck full and fell off clutching their wounds.

“Behind the wagons, now!” Armor up front, cover everyone else!” The convoy lurched to a halt as his orders ran down the line. Smart unarmored people jumped to the south side as another spread of arrows pierced the air. Then stopped. The volleys were small and far apart. The ambush wasn’t much of one. Maybe fifteen men from the shot speed. Well practiced shield formations stepped forth and covered their comrades grabbing their own protection.

Byleth bolted into the woods south. To the utter bafflement of Glenn. Maybe he was thinking him a coward, but that wasn’t it. “Cavalry, cover the wagons! Infantry into the front woods, watch your steps!” On command the armored foot soldiers advanced to the tree line. Arrows still coming to little effect, only a few taking hits from smart shots at joints. The five other horses in their column set up near the van and rear, ready to ride down anything that emerged.

And emerged a dozen men, covered in brown leather, short bows on their backs and small swords drawn. They skirted around the advancing infantry line and charged at the soldiers trying to put on their gear behind the wagons but Jeralt’s troops were ready. The cavalry cut them off, taking down two and forcing the rest of the attack team to back off. Stopped by cavalry and with half the infantry realigning to surround them, the ambushers cut their losses and faded back into the treeline. Vanishing entirely within the greenery before anyone could stop them.

Through the tree lines he could see Alois and Cassandra forcing back the rest of the ambush party. The assailants were fast and the leather gave them a resistance to some attacks but they’d chosen to ambush for a reason. In direct combat they couldn’t compete with the hard defense of metal.

So, why did they continue to attack? A few vollies and a retreat would have done more damage than their current actions. Why take such a life-threatening risk like that charge? Because it was a misdirection! “Other side, now!” Jeralt brought his horse round—to see Byleth emerge from the southern trees. Splashed in blood that wasn’t his and dragging another ambusher. His kid had sensed the misdirection immediately. “Good work.”

“There were thirty, I think,” said Byleth. “No swords. Just bows and a few arrows in each quiver.”

Jeralt nodded. A raiding party this far north was completely cut off from normal supply lines. They were probably attacking them to claim their supplies.

Alois and Cassandra’s units returned with a glorious cheer and three more prisoners. Count Hevring was gonna be mighty pleased with this effort.

He took stock of the situation. Three dead; eight wounded. Byleth’s faith training and a few others could take care of the body wounds, but couldn’t do much for the blood loss. They had four prisoners in good condition, six more ambushers who were wounded, three of those so severe they had to be granted a final mercy and another nine enemies dead. All told not a bad start to their campaign.

Still, even with their victory they could have done better. If Byleth hadn’t sensed the misdirection coming the hit would have been twice as bad. Jeralt used the experience to institute some new changes to their marching formation. Everyone had to go armored out. It’d slow travel time, but it was better than getting hit like that again. He had outriders made of his cavalry and looser formations set in. And prisoner detail for their walking gifts, as well.

Everyone’s spirits were riding high so they accepted the changes with good morale. Hopefully that would stick towards the end of the war. Hopefully.

* * *

“I don’t understand the Brigid tongue,” said Jeralt. At least, he thought it was Brigid. Byleth certainly seemed to think so according to his time spent in the library. “But I wager they were supposed to be ambushing caravans up north so no place in the Empire was beyond their reach.”

Count Hevring leaned back in his chair. An extra large wooden piece for the man’s great height. It was a rare man indeed Jeralt had to look up at. Slim, despite his height, with a dark coat that only accented it. With hawkish features and a sharp, pointed beard in green. His jadelike eyes narrowed behind his square-framed glasses. “Horace has presumed as much, yes.” He leaned back. “Yours is the first group to survive an encounter with these raiding parties. It’s why I condoned this… meeting.”

“Send us south and we’ll be just as successful.”

“You think this small success would deem you fit for such a position?”

“It earned me an audience with you.” Getting a face-to-face with the Empire’s Minister of Domestic Affairs so readily wasn’t something Jeralt was expecting so soon. He thought he’d have to lean on his name a bit more, but all it took was the prisoners and he was led into a fancy noble room. 

Count Hevring sniffed at the idea. “Horace is busy enough with directing the military’s counterattack. A band of sellswords such as yourselves is beneath his notice.”

The room certainly matched that level of superiority. The floors and walls were marble, with a thick crimson carpet decorating the floor. A golden chandelier hung overhead with scented candles (vanilla) drifting down. The desk was large and imposing, size of a bed and neatly stacked with papers. “So all we need to do is earn some fame to get an audience, eh?” Jeralt needled at his words.

“You presume overmuch.”

“I think I understand enough of Count Bergliez.”

“Do you now?” Hevring raised an eyebrow at the idea and studied him with a narrow eye. “Then enlighten me.” The delightful condescension of a noble humoring a commoner.

“Let’s start with the simple. You’re at war. You always needed more bodies. And mercenaries are more expendable than home troops.”

Hevring crossed his fingers at the idea. “I very much doubt you’re offering yourselves as sacrificial pawns.”

“Of course not. We’re tough, some of the toughest around. Just ask your brand new prisoners.”

“A better point. But hardly a reason to recommend you to Horace.”

“Because war with the Kingdom is still a possibility. That’s why you’re up here after all.”

Count Hevring leaned in. “So you’re not entirely without wits, it seems.”

“The Empire is fighting without its full strength. It needs every sword it can get. And Count Bergliez is well known for his utilization of strong fighters. His war groups are renowned for their relentless attacks.”

“You’ve something of a point now, but lack in some overwhelming credence to recommend yourself.”

Overwhelming, eh? “How about knowledge the Church of Seiros isn’t gonna come riding to save your hides.”

“As if the Empire needs such assistance.”

“The raiding party suggests otherwise.”

Hevring recoiled like he’d sniffed something foul. “How would you come by such knowledge anyway as a simple sellsword?”

It was time for Jeralt to recline in the chair. “Simple. I was a knight of Seiros who left the organization because they weren’t willing to fight. We all were.” More or less.

“And you expect me to believe such a tale?”

“The truth? Yes. We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” Jeralt stood up and offered his hand. “Jeralt Eisner.”

A flicker of recognition flew across the man’s face. Not enough to be obvious, but Jeralt could key into that kind of subtly when he wanted to. “And I’m to believe you’re the Blade Breaker?”

“Ask everyone in camp and they’ll all say the same.”

“A readied farce.”

“So, is it a farce when Volkhard von Arundel told me you helped strip Emperor Ionious of power?”

Fierce as a storm the man rose. Eyes alight with indignity and wrath. “You forget your place—_ mercenary _. For such a tactless tongue you could well be removed from the Empire permanently. And that’s a kindness.”

“Have you forgotten? I quit the Knights of Seiros. Who rules what government isn’t my concern anymore. Unless it’s Dagda putting their own puppet on the throne.”

The man’s eyes were slit-wide in rage. “And you expect such glib tongue to ingrain yourself a favorable position with me? Ha, you’ve accomplished the opposite.”

“Even should I be willing to divulge that the Kingdom is putting pressure on the Central Church to avoid taking sides?”

“Blackhearts.” The man grit his teeth. “Perhaps lead with such a thing next time.”

“Yet you believe me now.”

The words cooled the man’s disposition and he rejoined his seating. “So, this was all a ploy to get me to listen?”

“I would have preferred you just believe me upfront but I do what works.” Jeralt rescinded his hand and sat back down. “I’m here because the church can’t officially help because of the Kingdom. The sooner this war is over, the better for everyone. Everyone I convinced to come with me thinks the same.”

“I’ve not known the Central Church to be so timid in its matters. Why bend knee to the Kingdom now?”

“Making sure the Duscur weren’t exterminated was a hard-fought battle itself. They aren’t happy to get their revenge taken from them like that.” Jeralt tipped his head and indicated Hevring’s very presence.

“You’ve made your case. But I still see very little reason to send you directly to Horace.”

Jeralt leaned unto the desk separating them. “We aren’t some random squires or newly coined knights. These are some of the best the Knights of Seiros had to offer. More than a match for the best Dagda and Brigid have and an equal force to the Imperial Guard. Guaranteed.” He tapped on the desk for emphasis.

Hevring stroked his beard for a moment. Good thoughts since he didn’t immediately fight back about them being a match for the Empire’s best. “And you would be willing to follow orders?”

“Yes.”

“Even ones you disagree with personal?”

“No. Drawing the line is important.”

“So is survival.”

“So is the survival of what we fight for.”

Hevring responded with a slight nod. “An interesting line of thought, is it not?” Speaking to himself more than his guest. “Why do you think it is that I sided against my emperor?”

Not the line of questioning he expected. “That really something you should be asking me?”

“Indulge me.”

“You didn’t want your power taken.” Like every person in power ever.

Hevring rolled his eyes. “Please. Peerage or not I’d still be Minister of Domestic Affairs.” He leaned forward and bridged his fingers. “Power concentrated in the hands of one person is tyranny.”

“That’s what monarchies are.” _ Join the Alliance if you want a spread of power. _

“A country is more than its emperor.” He stood up. “More than one man, or woman at the top.”

This was gonna be a ‘for the people’ speech, wasn’t it? “Its people.”

Hevring through his arms wide. “A country is everything. Its leaders, its people, its culture. Ionius’s attempt at force spat on everything the Empire represented over its entire history. If he had succeeded there we’d well have been a civil war and a fourth power in Fódlan. We preserved the Empire.” His hands clenched into tight fists as his words ended.

For the Empire. Now and forever. What a farce. “Then you did good work.” Wasn’t his place to comment. “Dagda and Brigid are can only be stopped because of your actions.”

Hevring nodded self-satisfied at the answer and returned his hands behind him. “And the Empire needs not a hand of outside assistance to stop them.”

“Then strip us from the history books, I don’t care. But that speech showed how much you do care; so don’t deny us the ability to help.”

“It is easy to speak nothing of glory and recognition now. What when you receive it? Will you turn it down? And pay besides?”

“I’ve thrown aside my post already,” his answer quick. “My name, my title. And the pay has been handled,” and a lie.

“We shall see about that.” Count Hevring retrieved several cuts of paper and took quill to them. Showing Jeralt the contents of his recommendations when finished. “Will these suffice, for you and your band?”

“We’re calling ourselves the Broken Blade. If it pleases the count?” The count did so. “Yeah, it looks in order.” If it was sent.

Hevring sealed the letters inside envelopes and stamped them with his seal. He handed off two of the letters to Jeralt. “The messenger shall depart posthaste for Valacia, where Horace is mustering troops for his counter attack. You will be expected within three days or not at all. Understood?”

“You’ve made your point perfectly clear.” Jeralt stood up and offered another handshake, which got stared down. “Look forward to working with you.”

Hevring wrinkled his nose. “Dismissed.”

* * *

Jeralt returned to the Broken Blade’s encampment outside the city limits. Their encampment one among dozens of Imperial regulars and other mercenary groups looking for a contract. The latter group giving him some hard glares on return. Some of them had been here a while, hoping for work and Jeralt was let in on his first hour.

He wasn’t expecting trouble but he’d set an extra watch just in case.

Jeralt broke the news. A few nods, some questions and whatnot, nothing worth worrying about. 

With their destination set, everyone settled in for a diner with a surprise chef. Swordplay wasn’t the only thing Byleth had improved on over the years. Everything they ate had his touch on it. Damn delicious considering the quality of ingredients was middling on average. His food got more cheers than the actual announcement. Shame they couldn’t keep him on cooking duty full time without compromising their combat potential.

Even if they were only a few days out he still had to take care of administration duties. Making sure the fallen got their dues sent to their families or friends or whoever they wanted their pay sent to. Inspection of equipment followed. Mostly in good condition. Wagons, tents, food and water. Other supplies that were just as essential but easy to forget. Everything passed inspection.

Keeping up with his subordinates came next. He found Byleth and Glenn and Cassandra engaged in a rigorous round of sparing after meal time. Despite losing her arm she hadn’t slowed in the least. Surpassing Glenn in no time and going toe-to-toe with Byleth. 

After a few rounds she stepped aside, letting the two men go a few rounds with other mercenaries looking for a spar. “You’re as good as ever,” Jeralt commented on her performance.

“I was hoping for better than ever,” she replied with a half-slack smile.

“You’ll get there, one day.” He looked around the camp, at the merriment for so little. “What did you think of the Brigid soldiers?”

“One fight’s not enough to get a real read on them. Especially one as… pathetic as that.”

_ Pathetic, huh? _ “You think this is gonna be easy?”

“Not what I was getting at. If they’re attacking up this far north, attacking as under equipped as they are? They’re desperate. Desperate men fight the hardest.”

“You just said they were pathetic.”

“Well, that was. But once we get to a proper fight? It’s gonna be hard. They were fast, they were organized and they moved through the brush like it was a paved road. We fight them on their terms we’re gonna lose.”

He nodded along with her assessment. “You’ve still got a good eye for combat.”

“And your’s has been slacking off.”

He guffawed at the idea. “And right after I praised you too.”

“Hey, Byleth was the one to catch the ambush, not you.”

He smiled at that. “Yeah. First real battle, and he embarrassed us all.” His son was back to dueling with Glenn and winning again.

“Hey, I came out the winner in our duel.” The two of them locked eyes… and laughed. “I missed, this, really. Everything in the Kingdom’s so miserable these days.” She looked around, searching for Christophe probably.

“Is that why you really came?” Had to ask.

“That obvious, am I?” She tried to smile, but her eyes weren’t in it. “Well, you’re half right. I’ve never been one for politics in the first place. Give me a sword to swing and I’ll be happy. But what’s happening in Faerghus is just…” she scoffed at the mere idea. “I’m all for taking down whoever did this. But it wasn’t the Duscur.”

“So, you think fighting for the people who might have done it is better?”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why you’re here, too.”

“Heh. Maybe.”

Their conversation went on for a few more minutes before Cassandra went back to her training. So Jeralt went back to keeping up to date on his camp.

Christophe was doing the same as Jeralt, ensuring everyone who came with them was as comfortable as possible. Some more color had returned to his face, even if his grooming wasn’t quite back to noble standard yet. Alois was about raising moral in his own Alois way. His boisterous nature made sure there were plenty of smiles on faces everywhere he went and made sure no one stepped outside the bounds of good conduct to the local populace.

Finally Jeralt planned out their route southwards. Three days wasn’t a lot of time. If they got distracted they might not make it and with the conditions Count Hevring gave failing the time check could spell an inability to get work at all. There were a couple sizable towns on the way. Gossip he pulled from other troops suggested some of those were being hit by raiding parties. Brigid was doing a good job this time around. So, Jeralt picked a small, unimportant village to travel to. They would be cutting their time tightly, but it looked to be the safest option.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt and the Broken Blade come across an unexpected problem with unexpected rewards.

**Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The Broken Blade set out at daylight the next day. Even with only a few, distant trees coming across their cobblestone paths Jeralt made sure everyone was prepped and ready for combat. Everyone kept their armor on and Christophe and the cavalry were set as outrunners just in case. This meant they needed frequent rests to not impair their future combat potential, but it was better than suffering another ambush. Even if the terrain wasn’t conducive for such a thing, they never thought the Brigid would be that far north either.

“So, Captain,” Alois spoke up after dinner but before they set up camp for the night. “How did Lady Rhea take it when you said you were leaving?”

That kind of question wasn’t like Alois at all. “About Byleth?”

“About Byleth.”

“She didn’t much like the idea.”

Alois crossed his arms and nodded at the idea. “That’s strange, right? She has no problem with the rest of the students going out and fighting. Why is it only your son she’s so apprehensive about?”

“I think she feels guilty about what happened to my wife.” Not the full story, but a part of it.

Alois absently nodded along. “I see, I see. I wouldn’t much like my baby girl getting involved in all this nasty business either.”

“No intent of sending her to the academy?”

“I mean, if it’s what she wants…” But a flash of trouble dominated him now. “But as a father I… don’t want to see her in danger.”

So, that’s what he was getting at. “Don’t worry. If anyone’s gonna survive this, it’s gonna be my kid.”

“Too true, too true.” He nodded, too large to not be intentional.

Had he misread him? Alois was usually so cheery so goomly thoughts about his old squire didn't register. Just about when his parents died and—of course. “You’re gonna make it through this too, you know. This isn’t any different from all the missions we’ve undertaken for the Knights.”

Alois forced out a laugh. “Just another battle for old Jeralt and Alois!” He tried to flex at the idea. “But my daughter’s so young I just… can’t stop thinking about what would happen to her if I don’t come back. My wife’s strong enough to survive, raise her right. Doesn’t mean I can’t worry.”

Jeralt deeply nodded with his friend’s concerns. “It hasn’t been easy, trying to raise my kid alone. Even with everyone’s help. Your help.” Would Marigold’s affection been enough to bring out the emotions of his son? “No matter what awaits us, everyone who knows you would be glad to help.”

“Are you feeling all right, Captain? Not like you to be talkative about such things. Not sober, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t drink on duty.” _ Not since Fhirdiad, anyway. _

“Ah, forget I said anything, then.”

_ Might as well. _

The rest of the first day and night passed without incident. The closet thing to a problem was Cassandra walloping someone who got too stupid to pester her about her arm. The man was getting a wage cut for that. They’d reach the stopover village shortly after midday, so Jeralt took Christophe to scout it out.

It wasn’t good.

It was a small village, maybe twenty buildings and a few outlying pens for animals. Situated next to a large hill with trees growing out of it. The surrounding farmland had been uprooted and the walls torn down by the Dagdan and Brigid troops occupying it. So recent that they hadn’t put up sentries yet. A lucky break.

The two managed to sneak in close and observe. See the division between the two countries. The leather-armored Birgids were arguing with the metal-armored Dagdans. Even if he understood neither tongue he could tell things were heated just from the shouts. Hands were pointed at the largest building in town, large enough to fit the entire population of the village. Didn’t take much to realize the villagers were prisoners inside and both sides disagreed on how to handle it.

There were about fifty enemies the two spotted. They weren’t being lazy with their defenses, they had guys on patrol searching through the village and people looking out, but they were careless in victory. There were minimal signs of damage to the village, doors smashed open and windows broken. But no fire damage. An easy win over lulled them into complacency. 

Fifty men was about an even fight. That’d be broken the moment they used the villagers as hostages.

They relayed the information back to the rest of the group. A few quick ideas shot down for being too dangerous. The idea of just leaving the people to their fate got glared down and the man huddled himself in shame.

“We need someone close to the hostages to protect them,” Byleth said. The closest thing to a good idea yet.

“How do you suggest we do so?” said Glenn.

“I can pose as a villager and get taken nearby.”

Clever little idea. But, “Too dangerous,” said Jeralt, “we don’t know if they took any prisoners in the first place, or are in the mood for getting more.”

“If they try and attack me outright I’ll handle them. If they take me in they’ll be distracted and you can launch the attack. I’ll subdue my attacker and anyone near the hostages. I can hold out.”

“Not alone you can’t.”

“Then I’ll go with him,” Glenn said. “We’ve both got hand-to-hand training.”

“That still won’t be enough.”

“Looks like a job for old Alois!” The man smiled. “I know a thing or two about village life to make it look authentic.”

He’d be the best option. Work up a training ax like a woodcutter’s too. Couple others had more humble backgrounds but… only a handful of their entire group had significant brawling training. And one of them only had one hand. Adding in Byleth’s magical talents, he was really the best option. “All right, you three will infiltrate the village. Set yourself up like villagers. We’ll commence the attack as soon as we can. And hurry.”

The three of them set about changing out of their armor to peasant plain clothes while everyone else readied themselves for combat. The cavalry would take point and plow through the lines letting the infantry follow in and break ranks. He made sure everyone was aware of the archers and he would prioritize them in the charge. Dagdans had lots of lances that they needed to avoid but they were spread along the perimeter. Only the group near the town hall was concentrated.

Ready and able, Byleth, Alois and Glenn headed out. Jeralt followed them on foot at a distance. Just enough to keep them in sight but low enough to avoid their enemies. The two made a deal of shouting about the wrecked outer fields which brought Dagdan attention on them. They faked their retreat, and their stumble and were grabbed by the soldiers. No violence yet. The three were led by force and kicks to the village hall, where the enemy commander (assuming from the plumage in his helmet) was sitting.

The outer perimeter was rearranged as a consequence, concentrating the troop division into groups of six. But there was plenty of gaps to ride through. This was their best moment. Jeralt ran back to his horse, saddled up and shouted, “Charge!”

They moved like lightning across the preplanned route and the archers of the enemy shot at them. Deflecting off the armor of horse or man save a few good shots that hurt but incapacitated none. The cavaliers weaved through the thrown together spear lines and lanced through the archers they could. The enemy line broke in half to stop a flank.

The enemy commander was furious, sword drawn he readied it at Byleth but his son was more than prepared. He punched the wrist of his enemy and grappled him to the ground. The three other soldiers around him switched their target but Glenn and Alois were able to strike down two more while Byleth hurled a fire spell at the third. Byleth smashed the commander’s head into the ground and twisted his sword out of his hands. The three burst inside the village hall and out of sight.

Jeralt brought his charge around. The enemy had a makeshift square but they didn’t have enough troops to tighten it and threaten the horses. They braced their spears well either way. “Switch to javelins!” Jeralt demonstrated by hurling a throwing spear right into the arm of an enemy. The quick barrage opened up a gap and Jeralt led a second charge into the now undefended archers. Their arrows managed a lucky shot someone out of their saddle but this close Jeralt and his group could wreak a lot of havoc. 

And havoc was wrought.

Only a third of the archers managed to escape the square as the spearmen enclosed to cover them. Spears pressing in against the horses’ flanks. Leaving their own exposed in the process. Cassandra leapt into the fray. Even without Thunderbrand she was a terror, cutting through them like she’d never lost an arm. The rest of the Broken Blade followed in and the quick melee was decisive in its victory. The Dagdans turned and fled. Those that could anyway.

Leaving the clean-up to his command, Jeralt turned his focus to the village hall. Where the Dagdan commander was now fleeing, bleeding from a dozen cuts. Byleth emerged from the hall, an enemy impaled on his sword. He dropped his foe and nodded to Glann and Alois exiting the building.

The Dagdans and Brigid remaining were quick to notice and even quicker to surrender after that. Or it sounded like it from their foreign tongues. They were disarmed, boots removed and hands lashed together in a big group. About fifteen prisoners without injuries and just as many with. Half those close to death. “Do any of you speak Fódlan?” There was a response of blank stares and grimm hatred. “No medical treatment if none of you speak,” he lied.

The prisoners passed among them looks and only what sounded like curses shouted back. “Make sure they’re taken care of,” he passed off to Reo. Then to Christophe he said, “Get the horses on a patrol, we don’t want any friends of theirs popping up.”

Christophe rode off to deliver the news as Jeralt headed to the village hall. An older man, hair graying, cheeks gaunt and wrinkled. Hunched over from years of hard labor, bruised all across his arms. Thanking Byleth and the others profusely. Behind him were forty or so other men and women in various states of injury. Big population for so small a village. Jeralt hedged Byleth to go tend the wounded and talked to the leader.

“You lead these men?” the man’s voice was hoarse. More than Jeralt expected.

“Yes, you lead this village?”

“No - yes, after these invaders killed my son.”

“My condolences. We’ve the training to perform rites, if you wish it.”

The man deeply nodded. “Thank you, my savior.”

“Not to burden you, but do you know what these men were here for?”

“The well, perhaps? Or our crops and animals. We do not speak their tongue. We do not know.”

_ Damn. _ “I see. Thank you for the time. Do you mind if we spend the day? Make sure things are taken care of before we continue south.”

“It would be our honor, good sir!” The man bowed, causing the rest of his people to do so as well. “I am Mayor Tomaz.” What a funny coincidence of a name. “To who do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

_ Huh, sounds so close to Tomas… _“Jeralt. And the Broken Blade.” It sounded awkward to announce it like that.

“To our heroes: the Broken Blade!” Ragged but enthusiastic cheers overwhelmed everything.

Christophe came charging back in with the rest of the calvary. “Captain! Trouble!”

“What is it?”

“Enemies, more of them, coming up south in column.” The man visibly swallowed. “I think there’s over a hundred of them.”

The cheer drained faster than a drunk drank beer. “Do you have any militia?” A desperate ask he already knew the answer to. Everyone left was too old, too young or unaccustomed to physical labor.

“All our fighters dead already.” 

Forty against a hundred was terrible odds even if a quarter their numbers weren’t already wounded. No chance of an ambush and the prisoners would rejoin their compatriots the moment they could.

Byleth arrived. “One of the prisoners said something about a ‘High One’.”

“You speak Brigid? Or Dagdan?”

“I’ve picked up a few words from the library.”

Taking this “High One” could stop the battle. Royalty? Nobility? Or just a commander? Someone like that would be easy to spot at least.

“Christophe, did they notice you?”

“I think so. Three minutes on horseback but they’re all foot troops. No carts or supplies other than what they had on their backs.”

Some time to plan and their enemies could be as tired as the Broken Blade. “Did the prisoners bring anything with them?”

“A few carts, yes,” said Tomaz. “Had food much food, many weapons but little else.”

Were they were trying to turn this into a supply depot? “Tomaz, I’m gonna need your people to watch over the prisoners. I’ll keep our wounded with you to make sure they don’t try anything. Keep them in line.”

The man looked around his people. “We will do what we can.”

“Alois, Byleth, Glenn get your armor back and get the reserves up here.” Five more people weren’t gonna amount to much but they needed every hand they had. “I want you on a wide flank using the wagon horses.”

“I’m not the best with animals, Captain.” Alois grimaced at the thought.

“You aren’t doing a charge, you’re gonna be going on foot and hitting their rear, disrupting them as best you can.” Or if things fell apart, fleeing. “The rest of us are gonna brace the defenses and hold up a line. If this group’s coming here for supplies they’re gonna be tired and short-tempered. If we’re stubborn enough they’re gonna retreat rather than risk annihilation.” But if the enemy was stubborn they’d stick in to the last.

“It seems we’re taking too great a risk,” said Glenn. “If they’ve no horses we’re better off taking the villagers with us on a retreat.”

Jeralt nodded. “You’ve got the right idea. Any normal situation that’s what we’d be doing, but we’ve got injured and a good amount of prisoners. With the villagers and prisoners added on, our supplies are gonna last a third as long. If we encounter any other advance units we’ll be forced to defend them on less favorable terrain. Whatever they want with this village has got to be pretty important and we need to find out what while we still can.”

“Then we simply report it to the Imperial army.”

“Then we’ve no guarantee they stay here, or their numbers remain the same. If the army even listens. Villagers or no I was barely able to convince the count of our integrity. Time to put it to the test.”

Glenn tried to hide it, but there was a nervous twitch in his voice. “I suppose overwhelming odds are a true test of knighthood then.”

“Should I bring out the surprise?” asked Cassandra. Her hand twitching at the handle of Thunderbrand hidden in wraps of cloth.

It could take care of this problem by itself. “On my word or death.”

“I’ll do it before the latter, thank you.”

“Get to it, people.”

Everyone split to their new orders. Byleth, Alois and Glenn running off to get kitted. Everyone else making preparations by stockpiling wood and dirt to make up a barricade the village once had a shadow of. The prisoners were forced into the town hall with Tomaz’s people. Armed with extra daggers and weapons, the Broken Blade wounded went with them even after Byleth and others passed a round healing them.

The horses were put together in a makeshift pen down the way on the town hall’s south side. Covered in brush, the enemy wouldn’t be able to see any of the warbeasts when they pressed in. Lure the enemy in as best they could and hit them with a flank.

The Broken Blade gathered up in the gap between hill, town and barricade and waited. Between their shields they saw eventually the column of approaching enemies. They’d carried their combat packs on their journey and now set about putting them down and arming themselves. A rain of arrows striking into the position within a minute. “Hold fast,” Jeralt commanded. The flank team weren’t here yet. “Hold,” he repeated.

The enemies slowly spread out as the archers continued to fire. Almost all of the arrows struck nothing living. The only impacts on shield, armor, wood or dirt. Only two shots broke past their defenses and neither were more than grazes. They’d have to get into melee to be effective. The enemy had just as little scouting as Jeralt’s men. Trying to turn this into a siege would be careless and too dangerous.

A detachment of soldiers broke off from the main group and walked the greater perimeter of the battlefield. Quickly they found the gaps in the makeshift wall that Jeralt deliberately left open. 

Know your weaknesses and you’ll know where the enemy intends to strike. 

Word was clearly passed between the commanders and a troop of thirty men were sent around to exploit the opening. Ten were archers who continued to fire to little effect but they kept Jeralt’s men pinned down as their compatriots advanced into the opening.

They were cautious and kept a slow pace. A simple ambush wouldn’t have worked on them. Whoever was in command had top quality soldiers. The main force also began to advance in tandem, the ultimate goal of a pincer attack becoming increasingly clear. If Jeralt made a charge the enemy’s lighter armor would mean they could escape easily and under arrow cover. If they stood their ground they’d be surrounded and easy to subdue.

“Now.”

Shields fell down as bowmen brought up their stolen weapons and loosed arrow after arrow into the enemy positions. Packed together, lightly armored, they should have been simple targets for the quick and close shots. But they only had a handful of experienced archers in the Broken Blade. Though this close accuracy matter less, not as many enemies fell as he’d have liked. Half the front force fell down stuck with arrows and the volleys the enemy got off only numbered one in return. A volley with one fatality.

With a shout the forward enemies command broke into a scattered run and the flanking force did the same. Arrow fire found less targets as the enemy closed in.

“Now.”

Round two fired off as the few mages sent fireballs into the midst of the enemy. Their advance slowed in sheer surprise and a few more lost. Maybe fifteen taken care of in the front and two on the flank.

“Fall back!”

On word everyone dropped their positions and bailed. The enemy’s missile fire had slowed due to the closing ranks but picked back up and three men didn’t make it back to the rally point and half of everyone left had an arrow wound or arrow in them. They recovered in front of the village hall, protecting themselves with another knee-high dirt wall with a ditch on one side. “Catherine, hold the point. Christophe, cavalry, with me.”

“We’ll show’em Fódlan pride!” her roar was reciprocated as the riders ran around the north side of the hall towards their hidden mounts. The Brigid ran in, clashing ranks with defenders. A few broke off and pursued. Only a handful, which they handled with minor wounds taken. No more came, letting Jeralt and company mount up in peace. Through the gathered foliage he saw the two sides locked in vicious melee combat. The enemies were lightly armored but it was still enough to stop slashes and they were fast. Ducking between blows and striking at joints or lightly armored sections.

The invaders pushed in, driving the defenders back with blood and committing their second wave. “Now.” Cain pulled away the brush and the five remaining cavalry thundered out in all force. The enemy only had speed on its side, not a single spear. They couldn’t form a proper defense against charging cavalry. The incredible force of the charge blasted through like lightning and shattered their line in two. Fódlan and Brigid redoubled their frontal efforts while the rear guard chased after the existing horses. They had no chance of catching them but the pursuit made it more difficult to come around for a second pass.

Their flight out of village was met by a volley of arrows and Cain, southmost among them took the brunt and fell. “Come about now!” The archers weren’t Jeralt’s concern. Byleth could handle them. Not his concern even as an arrow pierced Jeralt’s leg as they came and leveled their lances anew. Three more felt the sting of arrows before the horses smashed into the enemy's flank once more. Crushed between the two Fódlan groups, the Brigid soldiers lost their composure and scattered. Some tried to make it into the village for better cover but a rampaging Cassandra wouldn’t let them. Her blood-smeared blade dancing like her relic without the glow.

A rain of arrows covered the retreating Brigid. Cassandra took a nasty shot to the thigh and stopped her own pursuit as a few more Broken Blade died. “About, about and charge!” Jeralt and the horses were so entangled in melee another three volleys were sent before they came about. The archers’ volleys emboldening their frontal soldiers. They couldn’t wait for Byleth any longer! “To the archers, now!” With a kick the flagging strength of the horses was expanded even further as they charged afield.

Christophe’s horse was targeted and he fell to the ground. Four horses left in the charge against fifty enemies. He’d taken tougher!

The archer line was suddenly thrown into chaos as Byleth, Glenn and Alois tore into them! The sudden surprise paralyzed the entire line and five were cut down before another volley. Those without swords scattered while those armed for close combat drew their steel and engaged. To good effect. A normal archer was so concentrated on the bow they easily neglected their swordwork, but the Brigid troops took to it with gusto. Not that they were a match for his son. His son plus others even less a match. The fleet-footed archers couldn’t match the quality of those assailing them and were quickly put on the back foot.

Jeralt and the calvary stuck to picking off the archers who’d ran from the melee. Again and again their lances found strong purchase even as desperate arrows continued to find their mark and nearly did the lance slip from Jeralt’s grasp between bouts of pain. But they could endure more and slowly did it finally turn. Everywhere in sight the enemy was fleeing, save one.

Byleth, Glenn, and Alois had taken care of most of their foes but one remained. A hooded figure with two swords of fine silver. Perhaps the High One, as Byleth called him. Certainly he moved better. Few could go even with Byleth, fewer still him and Glenn. With Alois too and Jeralt could count three alive that could manage it.

Now four.

The man dodged each sword strike aimed at him by a hair or deflected an ax head with incredible precision. His counters were swift as the wind and each drew blood, even if no blow was fatal. Though he might succeed against any one alone, the three could simply wear his stamina out. Every narrow dodge sapped muscles already to-be screaming after a march carrying pack. Even then, to his credit his movements were minimal and precise. Only when necessary did he act in force. Whenever they tried to surround him he’d focus effort on one and battle his way aside.

He would be quite the prize to present to Count Bregliz. 

Jeralt finished his impromptu rest and trotted his horse forward. A charge would be too reckless. As we slowly walked over the battle between three and one continued. Though the commander had preserved his stamina remarkably he was slowly being worn down on sheer number of attacks he had to dodge. None had drawn blood yet but slices had been drawn in his armor. His arms swept wide to deflect an attack and Glenn charged in at the exposure!

Only to get a kick to the stomach and a shoulder to the face. The man focused all his attention on Glenn while Byleth and Alois were ten steps away. Jeralt kicked his horse back into a gallop but there was no chance of arriving in time. The Brigid locked swords and smashed Glenn’s out of his hand before pummeling him to the ground. Sword tip aimed at Glenn’s throat he stabbed downwards—Byleth tackled him aside! narrowly saving Glenn’s life.

The three rose back up, Byleth sharing his blade with his friend and assuming a brawling stance. The enemy’s hood had been knocked aside. Thick purple hair in a multitude of braids now pouring out from beneath the cowl. He took stock of the situation. His enemies. His allies. And ran.

Byleth sent a fireball after him but he dodged it. In his native tongue he barked commands for anyone who could still move and the dozen or so survivors made south.

Jeralt could run them down. Take the rest prisoner. But an expertly aimed arrow from the fleeing commander struck his horse and flagged its strength even further. It was too risky now. He was one of a pair of horsemen left on his mount. A lucky shot on his flagging horse could completely upset their command. Harsh as it was, they had to let him go. A damn shame. Depriving their enemies of such a leader would have been an enormous boon.

So it was victory. After a fashion.

“Take prisoners and take stock!” Jeralt yelled. And the drudgery of victory went about without a single shout of cheer.

\---

The enemy didn’t come back later in the day or at night. Putting exhausted people on watch didn’t sit well with him but it had to be done. Everyone had taken injuries in the fighting. Every last person. Twelve had died and three more were on their way despite Byleth and the faith healers’ best efforts. They were already down to half their number. So much for breaking the enemies’ future.

Half the horses had gone down as well, including Christophe’s, though thankfully the young lord Gaspard survived, even if his arm needed a sling from the broken bone. Cassndra wouldn’t be walking for weeks among five others. Byleth, Glenn and Alois had gotten off light, just some bad cuts and a nasty stab to Alois’s foot which he could still walk on. Jeralt’s left half bore a good many wounds even if he could fight through it and the right wasn’t much better.

He’d been through worse. He’d been through better.

The townsfolk were an explosion of gratitude however. They took over every piece of care and concern the wounded and exhausted knights couldn’t. They fed, watered, clothed, bandaged and escorted anyone anywhere they needed to be. Hungry eyes looked upon rescuers which thankfully no one took up.

It didn’t make up for the dead. But nothing ever did.

The ambush meant they’d completely skip the timing window for meeting Count Bergliez. Still, they had nearly forty prisoners. That was worth a bounty all its own. Jeralt sent out a messenger to hopefully get some support from the count, or anyone in the army. Forty prisoners was a lot, more than the Broken Blade had left entirely. If they tried an uprising they might have succeeded. So Jeralt set a double rotation of sentries and watch just in case. 

The Dagdan and Brigid prisoners were docile. Too docile. But as the days passed by, they attempted nothing beyond chatting in a tongue Jeralt didn’t understand. Byleth knew too little to translate beyond a few words of no impact.

Everyone settled as much as they could. Keeping morale up as wounds healed and they waited for a response.

Third day after the battle, Jeralt caught Glenn skulking around the prisoners in the town hall. “You should be resting,” he told the boy.

“So should you,” the boy cracked a wry smile. “But from one man who should be resting to another, let me ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“Why did you take these prisoners?”

“They’ll be worth a lot.”

“They killed your men. Tormented these villagers. Yet you do not let ours or theirs enact retribution.”

That cursed-damn thinking… “Yeah, I don’t. They’re more valuable to us alive.”

“Even when we spoke of retreat, you insisted they come with us. Even knowing the danger it presented. It would have been a simple fix to execute them and buy us more time afield. It would have let us muster the villagefolk as militia.”

“You weren’t arguing to have them executed, why do you care now?”

“Because, your actions… they are not the same as the church’s.” He fell into a hard grimace. “Or the kingdom’s.”

“Well, Lady Rhea may like the ‘take-no-prisoners’ approach but I don’t.”

“Did you know? Never did the honor of the Blade Breaker enter the tales. Only your prowess, your lance-arm. Yet here I stand, a man who embodies knighthood at its finest.”

Jeralt waved off his nonsense. “There are no tales. I’m just a guy swinging his spear, doing what’s best for me. If that means taking a few prisoners, that’s that. Don’t read too much into it.”

“I’ll read what I will. And the virtues you’ve instilled into your son, as well.”

“Virtue” and his son often didn’t get lumped together like that. “You’ve thanked him enough.”

“It is not simply my life he saved.” Glenn looked off, towards the north. His homeland. “This journey, these battles, have taught me much. Even if only a pair they are. You’re still teaching, even if you were never a professor.”

“Yeesh, kid, you’re embarrassing me here.”

A flicker of a smile touched his lips. “The lessons this has taught me… will be necessary to save the soul of Faerghus.”

Well, that sounded ominous. “What’s that mean?”

Glenn forced a laugh out. “Nothing untoward, I assure you. But, perhaps something best left unsaid.”

If that’s what he wanted. “All right then.”

\---

It took a week before a dispatch of Imperial troops arrived in the village. A good fifty, mixed between cavaliers and paladins. The village wasn’t important enough to warrant such a quality response. Not unless the “High One” was as big a prize as he assumed.

About half the Broken Blade were healthy by then. Jeralt engaged with the captain of the knights regarding the state of things. The village, battle and war were all exchanged in increasing detail. Their captain was patient and understanding for a man this deep in a war. To Jeralt’s genuine surprise he accepted the idea of escorting them and the prisoners to Count Bergliz’s command.

The villagers were sad to see them go, but certainly glad to be rid of the despoilers of their land. A small group of ten were left behind by the Imperials. Enough to prevent a small counter and make sure any large enemy movements were spotted well in advance for an evacuation.

So the Broken Blade bid farewell and marched eastwards.

\---

**Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

Count Bergliez took a swig of something strong enough Jeralt could smell it across the table. "My scouts tell me that the man you encountered was Brigid's commander-in-chief." He let the mug rest on the table swamped with papers. "He's a crafty opponent who's caused no end of trouble for us." The man himself looked like he'd just come from a battle. His armor still bore marks of dirt, his cape was torn and matched the poor condition of his cloth underneath. His beard was wild with a few drops of booze glinting in it. His bluish-hair was pulled back into a single tie but plenty of strands were breaking out.

"It's only been a month, how much trouble could he have caused? Especially leading from the front like he is."

Bergliez nodded. "Brigid don't act like conventional army. Not like Dagda does. They move in packs. Small, efficient. They can last the month on their own just by hunting. An ambush here, and ambush there and suddenly our supplies aren't where they're supposed to be. Taken or slowed down. If we run an escort they poke and prod but never throw themselves into a real battle. Damn frustrating."

"Any idea why they did it with my team?"

"Thought they could take you, I wager." He nodded along. "Gives me an idea, it does. But that's not for your ears."

"Well then, what did you call me here for?" After all the pretentiousness from Count Hevring, forthright nature of Bergliez was a welcome repose. The office was small, almost ramshackle in ways. Wooden constructs that were visibly aged, a table smaller than Jeralt and chairs that creaked with each lean. Only a few candles for poor light when the giant window wasn't opened.

"Not many survivors of run-ins with Prince Brigid there. Less than your band across a dozen fights. So you and yours are of great interest for coming out on top. I won't be sending you to hunt but I can use a band of your calibur around tipping the weights so to speak."

Now they were getting somewhere. "Exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Good, good." Bergliez buried himself in maps and pulled one out. "This here's Port Nuvelle, the central base for the invasion forces."

"You can't be expecting a direct attack to succeed."

"Of course not. But if we know where the trunk of this invasion is we know where the branches go." He dragged out another map and placed some wooden circles around Imperial territory. "The Brigid act as scouts and raiders for the Dagdans who come up and hit cities with supply issues. If we know where the Brigid are we know where the Dagdans are gonna be next." He pointed at a familiar spot. "That village you saved puts them on the path to attacking the city of Ilia." He traced his way to a city to the north. "If they take it they can begin hitting the southern reaches of Arundel territory."

"Which might give the Kingdom a chance to intervene."

Bergliez nodded. "I don't expect the Kingdom to side with them. Not after Sreng and Duscur, but take advantage for their own purposes? Yes indeed." The man relaxed into his simple wooden chair. "Taking out that scout party's put us in a pretty position."

"Can't they just circumvent around anyway?" Plenty of open space around the mountain ranges.

"Maybe, but." He pointed out a Dagdan-occupied city of Lycia. "This is their closest territory to Arundel. They try and head out from there they'll run out their supply lines."

"Not if they pillage and forage."

Bergliez shook his head. "Dagda doesn't leave anything on its flanks. Brigid could get away with that, but Dagda won't. It's why I said trunk earlier. They route all their supplies through Nuvelle. Take that out and their entire war effort flattens."

That was incredibly dangerous. Even if the city was ironclad in guard a siege could completely shut off their entire supply track. "Why are they taking a risk?"

"Security maybe. But it's working." Bergliez leaned back in his chair. "Not for long if I have something to say about it."

"Sounds like you've got a good plan in the works."

"We'll have them out of Fódlan before the year's up."

Damn ambitious then. "If you've ever need a band of mercenaries, I offer the services of the Broken Blade."

Bergliez grinned big and wide. "Exactly what I was hoping you'd say."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Broken Blade fight during the seasons of warfare as the Dagda and Brigid war commences.

**Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The rains of the Garland Moon obscured sight. The prideful archers of Brigid could not loose their arrows to much success. But that same disadvantage turned to advantage when it came to their swift strikes. From behind walls of rain and mist the Brigid charged forward. Swords and axes in hand they engaged in bloody melee with the caravan, its guards and the Broken Blade.

Fierce as fire they fought, but when their surprise waned, they faded back into the distance. Footprints in the mud spoiling their retreat as Jeralt and the cavalry ran them down. Christophe nearly torn from the saddle again but Byleth leapt in to cover him. Even on foot he was covering their backs.

No fatalities for the Broken Blade, somehow. A goodly number of injuries, but none among their number met the goddess today.

Ten prisoners their bounty and twenty grateful Imperials.

* * *

**Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth had slowed the Imperial response for the Blue Sea Moon. Even now, at the peak of war, in a country less faithful than others, the devout still made their holy pilgrimages. Those who could not reach Garreg Mach retreated to local worship and that’s when the Dagdans and Brigid struck.

Tearing into the city of Elimine and its unprepared defenders. The pious took up their armaments to defend their institution and a bloodsoaked sight awaited the Broken Blade when they arrived. Soldier, civilian, it mattered not this month. 

Leveling lances, swords and axes the Broken Blade fought for a week in close-combat. Again and again, every time they thought the invaders were done for they’d strike from another angle. Cassandra at one point throwing herself into thirty foes to allow time for reinforcements to arrive and safeguard a critical side alley. Her body packed with wounds when Christophe arrived with his cavalry and ran the enemies down. She smiled even as Byleth desperately healed her.

The city was half rubble by the time the Imperial Army’s main forces arrived. All the invaders dealt with in the carnage. Hundreds of prisoners from Dagda and Brigid brought a hefty bounty to the Broken Blade. All for the price of severe wounds. Some thought it a miracle from the Goddess. Some even decided to join with the Broken Blade because of it. Jeralt had a different idea, but he wasn’t gonna turn down able sword-arms either way.

* * *

  
  
**Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The wild nature of the Verdant Rain Moon slowed the primary advance of the Dagdan armies. Noticing the dampened advance, Count Bergliez set his forces up to intercept. On plains with no name, with rains thick as a waterfall the two armies clashed in incredible combat. Blood pooled on the ground as thick as puddles of water and neither army would give an inch. The count personally led troops on the front, with ax and fist in equal measure his elite war groups punched holes in the Dagdan formations.

To the sides came the Brigid hunters. Dark leathers to hide in the darkness and rain. So easy for all to miss. Save one: His son. Without a single shout he leapt into the fray of the Brigid ambushers creeping in the darkened perimeter and wrecked his fearful slaughter. Jeralt rallied the Broken Blade and all those assigned to guard the flank and joined the battle. The whirl of chaos left no thought for higher strategy or far-off concerns, just the immediate fight for survival.

Battle lasted so long that Jeralt’s arms burned even without injury. Upon the horizon the sun slowly crept up. The faint rays of dawn illuminating the battlefield. There, standing atop a pile of bodies red from blood was the “High One”. The prince of Brigid. His swords flashing bright and brilliant even in the low light. Those who came close were torn asunder in his skill. Sword, ax and bow extracting deadly consequences to his opponents.

Jeralt kicked his horse and charged at the fighting prince. He bounded away, using the increasingly wretched terrain to protect himself from a charge, but Jeralt had javaleins to stop that. He circled around the perimeter the prince tried to enact, hurling throwing spear after throwing spear at the enemy prince. He dodged, each and every one but not with the boundless strength of a man fresh to the action. Each spear he avoided came at cost to his flagging stamina. He dared not even fire back to preserve what he could.

And that maneuvering finally meant Jeralt could make his attack. The circumstances were not ideal but they never were. With one final toss the prince dodged into a semi-open path and Jeralt ran him down. The Crest of Seiros infusing him with enough strength to shatter a building and aimed solely at the prince.

The blow came to his shoulder, intentionally. He took the blow, moving with its direction and swinging his left blade wide, cutting at Jeralt’s heel as he moved passed.

An exchange in Jeralt’s favor. The whole battle now turning to the favor of defenders. Byleth came, his own conflict concluded. Around him, Alois, Cassandra and Glenn had finished their foe. The prince was not trapped, not yet, but his escapes were few in number, against opponents of incredible quality.

Beneath that hood he smiled. 

And ran.

Jeralt kicked his horse—only for his right foot to slip off and nearly take him out with it. The prince had cut his saddle in the exchange. Clever man.

The prince rallied his forces into a fighting retreat. He’d earned enough distance that those wearing metal would never catch leather running in mud. A pursuit would just cause more casualties. Jeralt called it off. Rallied what he could.

To the main battle the Dagdans were forced off. Annihilated and surrendered in enormous numbers. They could not retreat as the Brigid did. Though bodies layered the ground enough to pave the city’s streets, a cheer of victory rose high against the clearing skies and the rainbow rising.

None of the dead were Broken Blade. All the deaths were Adrestians, or other mercenary groups. Those few among the latter begged for recruitment. Jeralt couldn’t much fault them either. Hundreds more prisoners were added to their rewards, along with a slap on the back by Count Bergliez.

* * *

**Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The defeat in Verdant Rain Moon crippled the advance of the Dagdan and Brigid armies. In response their raiding parties redoubled their efforts. Across the western farmlands the Brigid disrupted the harvest. Farming village after farming village felt the grasp of ruin as their harvest is disrupted, stolen or outright destroyed. The men hunting with their bows, isolated and unprepared for war, fall to the same arrows they slung at game. For this year, they were the prey.

Try as they might, the Broken Blade couldn’t catch them. Dozens, hundreds of small groups attempted to put a stop to these raiders to no avail . They avoided all attempts at direct conflict. Content to dance around in the trees shooting without any chance of retribution. Damn smart.

With nothing to be done, Count Bergliez regrouped his forces to protect the remaining farms he could. Correspondence was sent eastward towards Grondor Field, the territory of the count and the breadbasket of the Empire, to send more food west. It would damage the stability of the east, but the war would be won in the west, there was little choice. A winter without food would destroy the army swifter than any blade.

* * *

**Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The rivers of Fódlan were rife with fishermen as people desperately tried to stock enough food for winter. Guarded at all times by soldiers, mercenaries, or the Broken Blade. Even then, the Brigid would strike.

Another encounter struck short by Byleth’s prenatrual ability to sense the ambushes. Under his figure another battle was won without another death among their number. The Broken Blade moved as an extension of his will when he commanded. It was eerie.

The first snow flecks of winter began early. As the wyverns still soared the skies coming south to roost as far from Faerghus they could. 

His thoughts turned for a moment to the Officers Academy. Would they host the Battle of the Eagle and Lion while a war ravaged the land? Or had the church’s neutrality stopped any use of Grondor Field for such an event forever more?

Passing thoughts, nothing more, in the end.

* * *

**Red Wolf Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The slightest sheet of snow now ruled Adrestia. Villagers across the Empire huddled in their homes, hunters and militia on watch for both Brigid and the red wolves. Attacks from the former no longer as effective as they had been two months prior.

The light clothing of the Brigid was not meant for the weather of Fódlan. More than once the Broken Blade found Brigid just lying half-covered in snow. The “lucky” half only lost limbs. Shivering even in heavy furs. Babbling thanks in their own tongue despite everything.

On a patrol in woods picked clean of leaves screams of inhuman fury and human terror demanded attention. Jeralt and the Broken Blade burst into a full run even among the slippery snow and slick leaves underneath.

To their genuine surprise they found a pack of giant red wolves besetting a contingent of Brigid troops. Only three of the beasts, but their jaws were red with fresh blood and the dozen bodies still on the ground was clear who was winning. 

A wolf howled, its maw large enough to engulf a horse giving such power to hurt ears. Its claw tore into the rock-hard ground and slung a barrage of stone at the Brigid. They ducked and waved but two of their fifteen were pummeled from it. Unmoving on the snow when they fell.

“Broken Blade! Take down those wolves!”

This was not a time for war!

With a shout and charge their own they threw themselves into battle. Swords, axes, spears, spell and arrow striking against the barrier-ladened hides of the monsters. The wolves slavered and bite and clawed back, but once their defenses were overloaded their movements became sluggish and they sood disoriented as the Broken Blade inflicted deep wounds on them.

In desperation a wolf erupted the ground, sending the Broken Blade scattering apart in pain but it was not enough. The Crest of Seiros granted him enough might to behead the wolf to little effort after. Byleth took the second, and Cassandra the third.

Wounded, but none dead again. Even the former taken care of by the healers.

The Brigid had not ran in the chaos. Instead their bows had helped, Brigid arrows sticking out even more in the hides of the red wolves. To a man they disarmed and knelt. Shivering in the snow.

He wasn’t gonna say no to free prisoners.

* * *

**Ethereal Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The snow laid heavy with the Ethereal Moon this year. Only a few offenses were launched by the count and none of them involved the Broken Blade. They sat, well-rested and warm in a city. In the skies the Blue Sea Star would depart, and the goddess with it. Prayers for her return going with her.

Not enough prayers for victory, for his taste.

* * *

**Guardian Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The snow so thick in Ethereal Moon had melted the very first day of Guardian Moon. A birthday celebration for his son amongst the direness of war. No presents in flowers, only another dagger. And hopefully he wouldn’t lose this one. Even surrounded by all these people, all cheering for his birth, he never cracked a smile.

Orders came, a quick, coordinated strike south on all fronts. It was a plan born of utter madness at first. The roads would be snowed over, and those that were cleared would become trails of mud. Progress would slow, and stall. Armies would be forced to make encampment and leave themselves exposed to the worst of elements. Disease would run rampant, crippling the army and should the Dagdans or Brigid attack they’d be annihilated even against small numbers.

It was why it was so brilliant.

Bergliez had spent the past months observing the Dagdan and Brigid movements. After losing too many souls to winter’s touch they’d cut back entirely on deep scouting. Any army marching south wouldn’t be seen until it reached a city’s walls. Their sentries would be few, their soldiers content and unprepared. A strong attack would shatter morale and avoid the worst of fighting.

Winter clothing was delivered with the orders. The roads south were cleared. The muddy ground reinforced with wooden planks made in the chill of winter. Stockpiles of wood and food were stored on key points on the march south. Disease would be countered with stores of medicine and contingents of doctors. It was the best any movement in winter could count on.

Jeralt gave every member of the Broken Blade a chance to excuse themselves. None did.

Together, packed warm as possible in furs, they marched south.

Three rally points they passed along the way. Enormous battalions of Imperial regulars encamped at each. Heavy fires staining the sky. A risk they had to take, lest everyone free even in their protection.

A week after their departure a third were down with some form of illness. Sneezes and coughs and red-hurt cheeks. They were among the luckier units. Others struck from vomit, or limbs losing touch or worse.

The entire campaign rested on this attack.

The white-touched walls of the city came into view. Dots the size of a thumb on the walls running about. Bells cracking at the arrival of liberators. The soldiers so few in number gathered on the ramparts.

It wouldn’t be enough.

With a signal the pegasus wing of the army took flight. The white-winged horses flew through the air against a background of the same. They swarmed the walls, collapsing the few fighters in seconds. The great gates of the city opened, welcoming the Imperial army and its mercenaries inside.

Half-dressed, quarter-armed. The Dagdan and Brigid inside the city offered minimal resistance. The Broken Blade didn’t even have a chance to draw their blades. The city was theirs within an hour. Thousands of prisoners were gathered. Mocked and hurt in a grossness Jeralt wanted no part in.

Within the month news came of the complete success of the campaign. More lost to illness than the enemy’s weapons. A victory so great it would be called a defining moment in the history books.

But there was plenty more work to be done.

* * *

**Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The snows of the Pegasus Moon were harsh, but not nearly the bother they were up in Faerghus. Though their movement during the winter months had previously brought success Count Bergliez saw no more need to maintain it. The armed forces let themselves rest content in the warm adobes of the grateful populaces they’d rescued.

Though the defenders made sure to keep a proper watch just to make sure the Dagdans and Brigid tried nothing themselves.

* * *

**Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The snows of the Lone Moon melted with an unusual speed. The mud dried back to dirt, and even before the first week passed the army was once more on the march.

Three more cities were recaptured without much consequence. Glenn distinguishing himself in a particularly nasty case of house-to-house fighting. Cassandra cutting apart an entire enemy line by herself. Christophe lead a brilliant flanking maneuver on a string of enemy archers. Alois shattered a fortress knight in one swing of a hammer and earned a dozen surrenders after.

And Byleth…

Byleth was strong. That much everyone knew. He’d taken down so many students, squires, knights and even Jeralt himself. It didn’t occur to Jeralt just how powerful his son really was until he saw him in action so many times. Wherever he went, the enemy lost period. It didn’t matter their armor, he broke it with sword and spell. It didn’t matter their numbers, he was an army all his own. Against cavalry he tore them from their saddles and took their lives. Against archers he avoided their missiles while they could not avoid his fire. Any independent troop he led camp back without a loss of life. He never came back with a scratch.

The Crest he bore could explain healing any injury, but he never was injured. Every time he came back unharmed. His clothes dirtied with the consequences of battle but never cut by conflict.

All without a touch of emotion even as everyone cheered surviving.

* * *

“Ambush!”

The word rose too late for dozens of guards cut down in expert vollies. The forested road erupted in combat as all around Brigid and Dagdan soldiers rushed at the convoy and its guards. Steel locked with steel and arrow notched into knee. From the covered wagons leapt ambush soldiers of the Empire. A chaotic, brutal melee where the line flowed like water and death awaited with every breath.

A Dagdan spearmen skewered his horse as Jeralt skewered him back. From there a Brigid striker ducked in and cut at his legs and saddle. Jeralt battered him aside but as he rose a finishing blow an arrow struck his wrist and he ducked behind his shield. Painful gasps escaped him as another arrow impaled his left shin. The Brigid moved in, only for Glenn to strike him down.

The two couldn’t even exchange nods before an arrow impacted Glenn’s side. He fell, surprised, cursing. Jeralt brought his horse about to cover. Searching the trees for the expert sniper pinning them down.

A few bold attackers had taken the fight to the tree line and engaged the defenses protecting the archers. There were a lot of them. Maybe five for every Fódlan making the attempt. But it didn’t matter. They never lasted long against Byleth no matter their numbers.

His son’s sword cleaved a bloody path without consequence and soon all others abandonied overwhelming the Imperial response to overwhelm him. A mistake in some ways, since it prevented the archery line from striking. (Not that they would succeed).

His son could take care of himself, Jeralt had to take care of what he could. He readied a javelin, hurling it into the forest. An archer screaming as it struck his shoulder. Another one in hand—an arrow into his shoulder.

He grunted in pain. He smiled. He knew where the sniper was. Heaving through pain and torn muscle he launched it into the branches. The sniper had to dodge out. No damage, but she had lost her perch.

Byleth finished off his current foe and turned towards her. He charged, knocking aside her arrow and chasing her down—only for another enemy to block his path. The sniper pulled back—another throwing spear from Jeralt following after her and this time it landed. She spun into the underbrush and out of sight.

Byleth destroyed his foe.

All around him the Adrestians did the same. The Dagdan and Brigid forces continued to fight like beasts but the tide was quickly turning. Even when victory was completely out of their hands they fought to the last. Completely unlike the usual fare they had.

The Dagdans were getting desperate. And the desperate fought the most dangerously.

* * *

Jeralt’s lance pierced the breastplate of the Dagdan commander. One last struggle he threw out before succumbing to the fatal enemy. Their last great defender dead, the remaining Dagdan and Brigid soldiers slowly started to surrender before the overwhelming might of the Broken Blade. The captured soldiers were rounded up and put under guard while Jeralt went to manage their forces.

Not a single fatality again.

Every time they came through a battle without a death it astounded him. They’re campaigned from spring to winter and only the start of their expedition brought about deaths. Their numbers had even grown over the course of the war. The twenty-odd men left after that early encounter were less than half the fifty they had now. Imperial soldiers, other mercenaries and the ambitious villager with plenty of heart had all joined up with them. Being known as a unit with low death was an incredible merit.

Jeralt slapped Byleth on the back for his leadership. The kid had really come into his own. He could sniff out ambushes better than anyone, that time at the start just the tip of the spear. With him on scouting they’d gone the full campaign without anything as disastrous as that. He’d spot the weakest point of the enemy and then the Broken Blade would unleash its strongest right there. A cavalry charge led by Jeralt or an infantry rush by Cassandra. With so many troops broken and fleeing the rest of the Blade brought in by Alois and Glenn had no trouble.

It was almost too good and sometimes Jeralt wondered if he was in a drunken haze or some long-term dream. But each day the sun rose and set as usual. All the food had an impact and the drink delicious. 

And any real dream would have Marigold with them.

The Dagdans were put inside the city hall, one of a handful of buildings still left standing in a city that housed hundreds. Jeralt’s tradition had proven correct. The Dagdans were starting to run scorched earth as they were forced back. This city was better off than the four they passed earlier

The few remaining locals were awash with fury and demanded the prisoners be brutalized but Jeralt was having none of that. They weren’t having anything like “taking prisoners and treating them well meant enemies in the future would surrender easier”. His men were tired sore and still wounded but they had to be protecting men they just fought and captured.

He set a message out to Count Bergliez’s command group post haste. The count needed to know before things got out of hand. With the line was closing in on the Dagda front, only a few towns and cities were left before all they had remaining was Port Nuvelle. The Broken Blade would surely be called in to assist so Jeralt made sure everyone got as much rest and relaxation as possible.

Which wasn’t much between prisoner duty and repairing the town and just general activities of his troops. Byleth, Glenn and Cassandra were always involved in some sort of spar. If she ever married someone they’d need stamina for months. Beyond them, Christophe and Alois went about easing the burden on the villagers as much as they could. It didn’t amount to much, and no one appreciated the gesture but they tried anyway.

There weren’t quite smiles. These people had been conquered for most of the war. Cheer didn’t return that easily after such a trial, and keeping them from abusing the prisoners didn’t help matters either. Too many altercations between the locals and their liberators. Even if order was maintained in the broad term. The Broken Blade had to double guard at one point after someone snuck in and stabbed a prisoner.

“Why the hell aren’t you killing them all?”

The question arose from the cityfolk. Simple hate and retribution all on their mind. He repeated himself. To nothing but scorn. Not even a full day and they looked ready to rush the lines just to get their revenge. So much like Faerghus. But at least the Dagdans and Brigid were responsible for their suffering.

Bergliez’s response team came in the day after after the message was sent out. Incredibly fast which meant things were incredibly dangerous. Things were either busy or a disaster and the messenger said the former. The count had pushed back the Dagdans and Brigid to Port Nuvelle entirely. A massive success on all fronts. All available forces were being recalled for the siege. 

It was time to end the war.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle of the Dagda and Brigid War looms and Jeralt spends time bonding with those he can.

**Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

The journey to Nuvelle was quick, but it wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Dagda and Brigid had given up on holding anything between the Imperial army and the port. Every city, every village and town they occupied was put to the torch on their retreat. Dour misery was all the people had left as they went about rebuilding their homes. The Broken Blade in their tents had more left than these people. Much as Christophe and Glenn wanted, they couldn’t share. The troops took priority here.

The invaders had refocused all their efforts solely on defending the one city and on approach it became clearer why. The walls were tall and wide with plenty of arrow cover. The main gate was bigger than a noble’s mansion and probably just as thick. The ramparts protecting the forward position were packed to capacity with soldiers. Enough that they had to be weakening defenses elsewhere.

But off the coast the combined fleets of the two nations waited on floatby. Any attempts to circumvent the main gate and attack the flanks would be covered by floating ballistas and the threats of a marine invasion. Even striking the main gate would require an enormous portion of manpower be spent making sure their flanks were secure in case a beach landing was attempted. And with all the settlements around here ash and rubble a siege would run out of momentum fast even with spring on the horizon.

If Dagda and Brigid could hold out until the army could retreat they could force favorable terms. If Adrestia breached the walls, they would set the city alight and retreat back to the ships. It looked to be a clever plan.

Bergliez invited him to the final war council, to Jeralt’s own surprise. He was expecting all the put-upon glares of the senior staff that some simple mercenary was being allowed inside the commander-in-chief’s war council. Though maybe all the glares were spent first on the junior officers first. About all of the senior staff were spotless and well-groomed while the junior ranks were well-worn and still spotted battle damage. And Count Bergliez still looked more like the latter than the former.

Bergliez rolled out a map of the area and pinned it to a board behind him. He repeated all the observations Jeralt had made on his own time and introduced some new wrinkles Jeralt hadn’t been keen to. “Right now their naval forces surpass our own. Any attempts to circumvent to the weaker side of the walls will come under ship fire or a marine landing, while they’ve otherwise repaired the forward walls to excellent condition. Either way has its risks and rewards.” Low nods and half-said murmurs answered him.

The count smiled. “Which is why we’re doing neither. I know many of you have wondered why our pegasus and wyvern wings haven’t been deployed into battle beyond the personal troops of a few commanders and this battle is why. Our aerial wings are massing southeast, along the coast under cover of the east fleet. When they’re ready they’ll swoop in to the navies and destroy them utterly.”

The mood of the room took an uptick into enthusiastic nods and light approval. “However, in order to best execute this attack, it will be required to act at night, without any torches.” Made sense, the defense ships would be packed full with archers and ballistas to cover the flanks. Plus plenty of marines. “For this we will lead with our most expert riders, then strike in with the second wave shorty after dawn. Coupled with an attack on the city itself, we will cut them off entirely. Our current estimates put their food stores at two months. Three in light of eventual casualties. Which puts our two armies on equal footing. Brigid will not be able to send a strong enough force to relieve them in light of the eastern fleet’s arrival and this war will be over before the year is up.” Bergliez looked around the room. “Before I move on, is there anything else? Now, are there any questions?”

A number of hands went up from across the ranks. “Do the defending armies have enough men to launch an attack before our forces are in readiness?”

“We do not believe so at this time. However, if they were to strip their ships of fighting men they might be able to match us man-for-man in a direct fight.”

“They aren’t gonna do that,” said Jeralt.

“I don’t believe so either,” Bergliez sided with him before any of the pompos got uppity. “The Brigid troops can’t be used as front line troops. They’re ambushers and raiders or flankers and rearguard. Even if Dagda had enough armor to equip them they’re unlikely to be at the same level of the Dagdan regulars. Anything else”

One of the junior officers raised a point. “Sir, I’ve yet to receive orders to establish perimeter defenses. We’ve no palliside, no dirt walls, ditches or spikes. It the enemy makes a surprise attack we will be ill-equipped to handle it.” Some of the older fellows stared hard at him.

Bergliez smiled at the kid. “You’ve made my next point before I did.” He pointed to the map. “I’ve lowered our guard specifically to invite a sneak attack from our enemies. Make no mistake, we will prevail when it comes to taking the city, but if we can thin their ranks with a trap beforehand so much the better.”

“What are you basing this on, my lord?” said a commander.

“Established patterns of the Brigid raiders. This is their last chance to leverage their greater mobility and favored hit-and-run tactics. If they could steal a supply convoy they did. If they couldn’t, they’re destroy it. Otherwise they’d stalled it. Count Hevring was most displeased with the constant attacks. You’re all well aware of the defense strategies I’ve employed to rid us of their crippling effect. That is why the leaders of these small teams are with us today. They are the ones most adept in combating the Brigid directly. They’ll be responsible for the initial defense when we are under attack. It may be the most key point of this battle.”

“Then we should leave it to the Imperial regulars and improve our defenses,” said a higher-ranked commander.

“By luring the Brigid in with a lax appearance and protecting us with an elite detachment we can damage their numbers most efficiently with a lack of loses to our own front-line soldiers. Then the day after we drive them back we’ll launch our full-scale attack which will require our troops to be fully rested and able.”

There was that sacrifice play that had been missing the whole year. It finally mollified the prats to, from the looks of it.

“As an additional note, I want it spread to each detachment of the army and all personal units that we’re sending a call out for experienced aerial riders.”

“You don’t have enough?” Jeralt asked.

“We’ve plenty, but plenty more wouldn’t hurt.” He could drop the note but no one in the Broken Blade had that training. “Is there anything else?” A few minor questions went answered but eventually everyone was mollified. “Good.” Bergliez followed up with grabbing a stack of papers off a side table. “Here is the force distribution and patrol schedules. Relay them to your commands at once. Dismissed.”

Jeralt took his briefing and left overlooking the thing. The Broken Blade would be active on nights three to five. Common luck told him this was when Brigid was going to attack. He headed over to their section of the camp (closest to Port Nuvelle, exactly like it’d been planned from the start) and informed the rest of the upcoming distribution and the call for all aerial riders.

“I can fly,” said Byleth.

“Since when?” Jeralt asked.

“Manuela’s been teaching me.”

“Is… is that what your lessons were about?”

“Flying, swordwork, white magic and cooking.”

That would explain the meal quality. “How does she know how to handle a sword? Or pegasus?”

“She used a sword during her time at the opera. I’m not quite sure where she got her flying aptitude from. Why didn’t you know this?”

“Errrr, that’s not important right now. How qualified a rider are you?”

“I could pass the pegasus certification if they weren’t so picky.”

“You good on wyverns, too?” They wanted a strong arm to command them.

“They’re what I practice on.”

He didn’t want to let the kid out of his sight. But he’d done that plenty and he’d come out fine. “All right, I’ll forward your name to the count if you’re sure about this. Glenn can take over your troop details until you get back.”

Glenn cheered while Byleth answered, “That’s fine.”

No enthusiasm. Just how it was, even in the midst of blood and battle. Jeralt went over secondary preparations and made sure everyone would be good and prepared for.

Then a runner from Count Bergliez called him over and Jeralt had to comply with the surprise order.

It was a large tent, if lacking in furnishing. The count’s personal armor rack and wine rack the only notable things. Jeralt eyeing the latter in particular even when he didn’t like to drink on the job. He walked over and set down his report. “I’ve one rider for the ship assault.”

“Good, good.” The count nodded. “Come, sit. Share a drink with me.” Bergliez popped open something big and strong.

“No thanks. I’m dry on duty.”

“So should I.” The count shrugged and poured himself a mug. “What do you think of our odds?”

“You’ve demolished everyone in your path with ease. Why concerned now? Why ask me?”

“Too many sycophants without the guts to tell me what’s for.”

“You want me to criticize you?”

“Course. Men in command need a view from all life. Or is the captain of the Knights of Seiros fighting like a common mercenary part of a greater scheme?” A knowing look spread itself thick across the count.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then we’ll leave it at that.” Bergliez took a sip of his drink. “Good stuff. Whew. I always wanted to go toe-to-toe with you when I was at the Officers Academy. ‘Jeralt the Blade Breaker! The man on par with a Hero’s Relic!’”

“That’s an incredible exaggeration.” Even if there was a kernel of truth deep in it.

“You’re not the type to brag. So it had to come from somewhere.”

“Enough brats get scolded by me they see me as some impossible figure to overcome. It gets ridiculous. My own kid’s already beaten me.”

“Not exactly downplaying your skill if only yours can win.”

Jeralt shook his head. “And what about your kids? Which one’s coming up for the Minister of Military Affairs title?”

Bergliez slammed his drink on the table, spilling booze all over the documents. “My first and that’s final.” A hardline of anger shot at him. “Which you’ll understand if you know what’s good for you.”

How many bottles deep was he? “I look forward to him at the Officers Academy.”

“He’s not going.”

Well, there was a surprise. “Why not?”

“He’s already getting everything in life he needs. My second? Sure. Let him make his own way. But not my heir.”

There was a nasty story here. A good idea to avoid it. “That attitude why you sided against Ionious in the Insurrection of the Seven?” So he didn’t.

He expected a mug thrown at his face but all he got was a sigh. “My father’s second wife was… how to put this gently?” He pondered for half a second. “A wretched waste of a human being who wanted to rob me of my inheritance and give it to my oaf of a half brother.” He slammed his mug again. “If she had her way we’d all be speaking Dagdan and Brigid now. That brat graduated only last year yet she thinks he should be in charge? Ha! Let her try. Let Ionious try and take my title. Damn her and damn him.”

Family drama driving his actions. Just like Volkhard. But hell, he’d fight anyone if his son was in danger, so he wasn’t so different. He’d come down here just on the slight chance he could track the man down and do something about it. “To family.” Or whatever.

Bergliez took another large swig and the two continued chatting for a bit of time before the count grew too drunk and Jeralt asked to be excused.

Night was growing closer. Braziers and torches and fires going up among the tents. Jeralt headed back over to the Broken Blade’s camp. There he found Glenn sitting on the ground, by a fire. Engrossed in a book it seemed. Jeralt walked closer to get a better look and—“Are those… flower presses?” he asked.

Glenn looked shocked. “Yes, yes they.” he looked back down at his book. “Every Garland Moon my fiancée made me a crown.”

_ Awww. _ “That’s sweet of her.”

“You met her once, you know? Three years ago when you and Byleth were at Fhirdiad.”

“I’m surprised you remembered that.” _ I sure didn’t. _

“I remember every time Miklan got comeuppance.” He smirked at the idea. “And it’s also when my own path changed.”

“How so?”

“I used to wield a lance.”

Jeralt nodded. “I know. When your class arrived in the training grounds I inspected the whole lot. Your forms and techniques. You went for stabbing motions over slashes that a lot of the other students prefered. Not just because they were better. The calluses on your hands were developed from handling lances, not swords. So, why the change?”

“Your son, if you’d believe it.”

“Huh, really?”

Glenn nodded. “Miklan, Sylvain, my fiancée and His Highness all prefer the lance, as I did. But that duel opened my eyes to more. If he could defeat the lance so effortlessly even at a disadvantage, I needed to learn that. His Highness needed someone who could cover his own weaknesses.”

Most Kingdom were so set in their ways they rarely changed. “You’ve done well to adapt to a new style.”

“Thank you. Everyone in Faerghus studies the blade at least once. What once felt unsteady in my hand now feels as natural as my fists.” He looked back down at his book. “I suppose the war had some effect on it.”

“I’ve heard some say conflict is the greatest teacher. I don’t buy it personally. What does fighting teach you about flowers?” he moved the conversation on a relevant path.

A small smile took hold of him as he spoke. “Every year I take one of those flowers and put it in this book.” he closed it as his smile dipped. “Except this one.”

“Ask for two next year.”

“If I make it that long.”

“You’re too young to be thinking about death.”

“And I’m too smart to ignore the possibility.” Glenn shook his head. “I told you, I saw death at Gideon. Too young to fight, not young enough to avoid clearing the bodies. I thought I might gain perspective if I fought again.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.” His eyes turned far off. “Odd, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s merely my upbringing.”

“So, what have you learned?”

Glenn faced him again. Eyes not hollow, but tired. “I mislike war.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“I do not understand why Dagda and Brigid conduct it. But I see how the Empire fights it. So alike us, avenging our king.”

“Do you believe the Empire was responsible?” Jeralt asked.

“Do you?” Not something he could answer. “The regent runs the country like it’s his own. If it hadn’t been for my father he may well have turned Dimitri into a mere puppet to conduct his business.” Glenn sighed. “It is not the Empire I believe is responsible for harming my country. It is my countrymen. Not to say I absolve the murderers but they are not the ones raising taxes while people starve.” He hardened like a stone. “Or perhaps they are.”

“I’d keep that to yourself.” Denouncing the regent as responsible for his own brother’s murder would get a civil war started.

“So I should turn a blind eye to this injustice instead?”

“And what justice is there in dying a pointless death?”

“I’m from Faerghus. No death is pointless.” His hands gripped the book white-knuckle tight.

That kind of thinking never went away, no matter how many Blue Lions passed through the academy, “Have you ever done the exercise where a commanding officer puts your hometown in danger?”

Glenn scoffed. “Gustave was fond of that one.” He looked far off. “Still is. I overheard him once, directing it at someone at the Monastery.”

“What did you answer?”

“Both, over time. When I sought the pinnacle of knighthood I followed orders. When I saw Gideon I thought to protect my town. Now?” Glenn smirked. “I do both.”

“Good.”

“I thought that would please you.”

Jeralt sat down next to the boy. “We’ve saved how many hometowns during this war? Fifteen? More? Starting with that little village by the hill. Some say a sacrifice for the greater good is a worthy cause.”

“Are you one of them?”

“I haven’t had to sacrifice in so long it’s irrelevant to me.” Or maybe being here was his sacrifice.

“Sacrifice, eh? Even when the sacrifice is forced upon you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Recall Miklan. His younger brother was born with a Crest. It’s not been officially confirmed with a crest scholar but everyone knows it. When Sylvain is old enough, he’ll be made heir and Miklan will be removed from the house.”

“I’ve always despised that practice in the Kingdom.”

“As do I,” he snorted. “My grandfather was third among seven siblings. All disinherited. Much the same with Galatea to our south. Dominic in the west. Only when the previous king granted Rufus the grand duchy did the practice slide towards uncommon. But even now the branch houses sire child after child in an attempt to breed a Crest into being. Then they exile those without. All in the vain attempt that they may become the legitimate line should the main houses’ heirs all die. Disgusting.”

“That’s the price for power.”

“Relics that can render all your training and skill irrelevant. If the goddess is all-loving, why leave such weapons in the hands of men that enforce inequality? Why do lands beyond Fódlan hold none?”

“I sought the same answers when I was young. Never found anything. Eventually stopped looking. Just took life as it was.”

Glenn slowly nodded. “During Gideon, Miklan was there too. Leading a troop of heavy infantry. He held the walls, he held the gates. When his men were surrounded he led the breakout. When not all escaped, he dove back in to rescue them. A hundred men owe their lives to that scoundrel. When he gets disinherited they’ll follow him. Ravage the countryside as bandits until they’re put down like dogs. Just another in the lone line nobles turned bandits. Solely due to a misfortune of birth.”

“You’ve got a lot of opinions on the Kingdom.”

“I came to the Empire to broaden my horizons as well. And here I see a man without a Crest leading the whole of the Empire’s military might. A man like Miklan might make himself a proper name here.”

“Bergliez was still born to inherit his position.”

“Another tenant of the goddess.”

Another thing the church enforced. “Brigid has royalty its own, yet no goddess. Almyra has a king, but no goddess. Sreng, Duscur, Dagda, Albinea? I have no idea. Morfis has a council of equals among its mages.”

“I think one day I’d like to travel beyond Fódlan’s walls. But that will be far in the future.”

“‘Til that day.” They could share a drink together.

“‘Til that day.”

* * *

Jeralt’s search for Byleth brought him to the outskirts of their camp, which was on the fringe facing Nuvelle entirely. They’d be the first camp hit when the attack came, so patrols were plenty thick in the faded sun. There, Christophe was making sure the encampment perimeter was shipe and shape. “Ah, Captain. What brings you here?”

“Wanted to check the defenses myself. See how you were holding up.”

“Me? I’m fine sir. And the defenses are strong as ever.”

“Can’t be easy fighting for the people blamed for your king’s murder.” And all the terror that came with it.

No surprise he frowned at that. “It’s been nearly a year. Too late to be talking about that.”

“Maybe. But you’ve been… less miserable when we’re out here fighting than when I saw you at Garreg Mach.”

“Having some success in life will do that.”

“You’re not a failure, Christophe.”

He shook his head. “I’ve failed plenty. There was this… this bandit group, that raided Gaspard territory. Any reports to the army to handle it were ignored. All that tax money made those bandits yet it did nothing to stop them.” His face tightened in pain. “So my father and I raised our knights, raised our militia and went to rout them. We did so. But these were not men who needed to die. They were not professional soldiers, they were desperate peasants. Killing other, desperate peasents.”

“So, you do hate them?”

“There was… a baker.” He ran away from the question. “Samual. Always, Samual. He insisted on it. He had an older sister named Samantha, she was Sam. Samual took up arms alongside the villagers. Joined the militia. Fought with them. Died with them.” Cristophe ran a palm across his face. “We only lose a dozen people. Some general would take that as a glorious victory. But they still died. Their families were still sad. Sam, she came, halfway across the country she came with tears in her eyes for her brother Sam. A knight is supposed to protect the weak, but even then people die. What cause is worth killing for?”

Jeralt shrugged. “War’s the most justified thing in existence. Love, freedom, glory, honor, vengeance, power. Even simple killing. Name a reason and war’s been fought for it.”

“Fools, all of them.”

“And you’re here fighting a war.”

“For defense!” he burst out, stunned even at his own reckoning. “Protecting yourself—”

“People have fought for that too. Think that it entitles them just as much.”

“But the culpability lies on the aggressor.”

“Yet you’d still sided with your country against the Empire on speculation.”

“That’s… hypocrisy, yes. I am a hypocrite, am I not?” Christophe buried his head in his hands. “Is there a way to be a knight without this dilemma?”

“Not one you’d like to hear.”

“Tell me, please.”

“You embrace it. Or you lay down your lance.”

“I cannot abandon people in need.”

“And what happens when those in need aren’t victims of just war? When the opponent is a simple thief?”

Those words were a slap across Christophe’s face. “My adopted brother was a thief.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“He only stopped because my father showed mercy. He laid down his lance, as it were. But… I don’t think it would have been better to surrender to let those bandits run free. Even had we laid down our lances I don’t think the rest of Faerghus would have looked kindly upon us.”

No tolerance for traitors. “Is that someone you think is worth fighting for?

“I’ll not be a traitor either. Yet, I find myself disagreeing with both sides.”

“Too bad you can’t join the Alliance.”

A weak little smile appeared on his lips. “An equal council of lords does seem a better path. They might block one another from launching a war.” Then he shook his head. “But it also makes their actions slow, does it not?” Jeralt nodded for a yes. “I think this has taught me nothing’s easy.”

“Most people never learn that.”

“You’re an excellent teacher, Jeralt.”

“You weren’t a half bad student yourself, Christophe. I hope when you become Lord Christophe that you rule with a wise hand.”

“I hope I have one when I do. And that my father lives longer than you.” He cracked a big old smile at that.

“I’d love to see him try.” Jeralt laughed, and Christophe laughed. Both into the night.

* * *

Jeralt’s next destination was the little duelling pit they’d worked up. Byleth wasn’t there but Cassandra had made the place her new home. She was spending her time as she usually did: practicing. Her sword was clean and basic but her speed and power put it a cut above regardless. “Yo, Jeralt, care for a spar?” She was already breathing hard from her routine.

“I’ll pass,” he said. “You really need to get some rest.”

“No thanks. I have to train six times as hard as anyone else.” She hefted her sword up unto her shoulder.

“You’re not to blame for Duscur.”

“Never said I was?” Her eyes flickered at the accusation. “If anyone, I’d blame you.”

“Thanks,” he flatley replied. “But I’m not talking about culpability.”

“Guilt, yeah, yeah.” She tried to brush it off. “My father tried to give me the same speech but I wasn’t having it.”

“Really?”

“Look,” she stared flatly, “this talk may work on Christophe, because he’s an utter wreck. Or Glenn because the kid’s too new, but treat me with some respect, would ya? Yeah, I wasn’t perfect, still not, but I’m taking down plenty of tough guys even with only the one here.” She flexed for emphasis.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Me being the best there is?”

“That attitude. The one you always had. And it's only gotten worse.”

She shrugged. “I think I’ve only gotten better.”

Jeralt shook his head at her nonsense. “Dammit Cassandra. You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen the best laid low. Your act gets other people worried.”

“I can look after myself.”

“That’s what worries everyone. You’ve got the skill to back up your words but you never know when to stop. This conversation is the perfect example and—how long after Duscur did it take you to begin training again?”

“The next day,” she growled. “I’m not rushing to my death, unlike what everyone thinks. I’m the toughest around, so I have to take on the toughest foes. And if I don’t, someone else gets hurt.”

“You say you’re doing this for other people?”

“Just one of them. Someone like Christophe, he… he hesitates sometimes, you know? Likes to believe in people. It’ll get him killed someday, trying to fight for the greater good and all that. But if I take out everyone who can hurt him it’ll be fine. Same thing with you. I know you don’t hesitate, but you’re always so concerned with Byleth it impacts your judgment.”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

“During that fight we had at the village when we first started out? We could have used him with us in the line. We’d have taken half the casualties if he were there fighting, and patching people up. Their archers would have broken on the most green recruits. Sending him and Alois in was overkill.”

“Their commander would have slaughtered anyone else I sent, save you.”

“And how many else would have made it instead?” Cassandra shook her head. “My father’s the same way. Doesn’t want his ‘little girl’ running off getting into danger, but wants to respect her wishes, but tries and help in his own way. I’m not saying there’s malice behind it, but people died because of favoritism.”

He’d never been this close to someone before. Not ever. “Never thought of it that way.”

“Maybe you never realized it. Heck, I might even be wrong entirely. But I’ve seen that kind of desire to keep someone safe and secure before.” She put her sword down as her expression turned frown. “These days Dimitri is never allowed out of the castle because Rufus claims the prince shouldn’t be in danger. But we all know it’s really to sever any connections so Rufus can safeguard his own power.”

“That really something you should be telling me?”

“Eh, you’ll hear it soon enough. If Rufus stops Dimitri from attending the Officers Academy he’ll destroy what support he does have.”

“I’m so sick of all these politics.”

“You and me both. What I wouldn’t do to just join the Knights of Seiros and leave it all behind.”

“This is a far cry from leaving it all behind.”

“Close to it as I can see. Take the Broken Blade in our own direction. No nation, no church.”

He smirked. “Doesn’t sound so bad. Lousy pay though.”

“I accept my pay in enemies. Probably the only one though.”

“What do you think of Brigid and Dagda then?”

“Not as tough as I was expecting, or maybe just having you and Byleth at my back makes it look easy. Don’t know why they think they’re gonna win this though. If the Empire alone is repelling them, what do they think’s gonna happen if the Kingdom or Alliance or church gets involved?”

“You’re the emissary saying the Kingdom would attack if the church took sides.”

“Well, keep it a secret but the Kingdom isn’t in shape for another war. Everything on the border is a mess and Rufus’s incompetence has damaged the integreity of the royal army..”

“Even after all those taxes?”

“It’s because of those taxes. Christophe and I have been travelling everywhere helping put down rebellion after rebellion. Not that Christophe would say it out loud, even to you.” She winked. Or just blinked, it was hard to tell with one eye. “The army’s stronger than ever on equipment and manpower, but they’re sharpening their blades on their own people. Morale’s so low even the commoners look happy compared to the soldiers.”

No wonder Christophe was half-dead on arrival. “I can’t believe the lords are going along with that.”

“Why wouldn’t they? The threat of the Empire’s got the nobles concentrated on protecting their own power by any means necessary. Gautier’s thrown his lot in with Rufus alongside Rowe. Fraldarius and Galatea try their best to mediate things but it’s not enough. Dominic’s lost its influence with Gustave missing. My father’s always been neutral. Gaspard’s a wreck. Most of the minor lords then follow their neighbor, and since they’re in the west, that means Rowe, which means Rufus.”

He knew the situation in the Kingdom was bad, but not that bad. “Is that why everyone wants me to teach Dimitri so much? Because they need him on the throne now?”

“Now would help. Even if it’s against tradition it’d make things better. Not that the boy knows how to run the country right now.” Cassandra actually sighed. “You’re right. Some days I do think, ‘what if I’d been stronger in Duscur’. Could I have saved the king?”

“Maybe.”

She was one to laugh at that. “What happened to all that talk about not blaming myself?”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” A sad smile returned to her. “Dimitri's still a kid, but one day he will be king. A lot of people would prefer sooner, rather than later. But he’s always been such a stickler for tradition. Even once he knows all the ins and outs of being king he won’t take the throne until he’s of age. There might not be a Kingdom by then.”

“Are you gonna be there?”

“Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows where this battle will end with us.”

“What happened to all that confidence from earlier?” Jeralt asked.

“You beat it out of me.”

“Glad you’re finally listening.”

* * *

With almost nothing left Jeralt headed over to the mess tent to try and find Byleth. No success again, this time was Alois was engaged in a bit of comradery with other members of the Broken Blade. Wide smiles and half-empty mugs as they sat around a well-used table exchanging stories. “Something the matter, Captain?” he asked when Jeralt got close enough.

“Just making sure the Broken Blade’s ready for combat.”

“We’ll be as ready as ever, I guarantee it.”

That scrappy little kid with dead parents and tears staining his cheeks had turned into a true man. “I’m glad to have you on my side, Alois.”

“Think nothing of it, Captain. The debt I owe can’t be repaid in this life.”

“I hope you’re not just doing this because of some debt I don’t hold you to.”

Alois laughed. “Of course not! I—we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t believe in who you are.”

“I’ve never felt like much of a leader.”

Alois had to blink. “My word, Jeralt, opening up without a drink? Should I expect the Goddess to return this night?”

Jeralt rolled his eyes. “Quite making this seem sappy you.”

Alois leaned back with a great big smile. “We’ve room for another, if you’re interested. I was just telling the men about that time you and I took out those bandits in Ailell.”

Just the name of the Valley of Torment warmed him. “Not something I like to remember, so I’ll pass.”

“Too… hot for you, Captain?”

“Definitely passing.”

* * *

There was one last person he needed to speak with before retiring. The person he was searching for in the first place.

But he wasn’t palling with Glenn, or guarding with Christophe, or sparring with Cassandra or relaxing like Alois.

Byleth was reading in his own tent.

Not that his kind didn’t like to read, but on a night like this? Maybe the final night of a war? Too odd for him to consider earlier. “You’re good to go on the ship assault if you’re up for it.”

“OK.” He didn’t bother to look up.

“What are you reading?”

“_ Book of Seiros _. Volume III.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you your opinion on the church’s dogma.”

That got his eyes off the book. “While it’s true, I believe. If it’s not, I won’t.”

“That could get you in trouble.” Even if it didn’t. For someone raised in the church he was too flippant about it. But Rhea gave him all the leeway in the world.

“If it’s false the ones in trouble will be the church.”

That’s true. “Do you have any concerns about this war?”

“Should I?”

Was that an ask, or a challenge? “Everyone here does.” Even if he didn’t ask Alois about it he knew the man had reservations.

“We know I’m not like them.”

Too true. “That doesn’t mean you can’t share concerns.”

“Yes, it does.”

Goddess, why did this happen to his boy. For all the callousness of his words he’d never acted like some sort of villain. He volunteered for the village because he cared, even if he didn’t admit it. “I’ll always be here, if you need to talk.”

“Glenn needs a talk more than I.”

“Already done it. Christophe, Cassandra and Alois too.”

“Then Seth, or Reo or Sain. They need you more.”

Should he be happy his son wanted to be self sufficient or sad he didn’t want him? “Then I’ll see you after the battle.”

“Good-bye, Jeralt.” His son called his father by name.

* * *

The first three nights passed without incident as the Imperial army moved more and more soldiers into its camps. The third night the Broken Blade was set up was the night watch. Nothing happening.

The fourth Jeralt was on patrol with Byleth, Cassandra and Glenn. The torches from the camp and the distant walls of Port Nuvelle cutting across the night. The wind was blowing in from the south. The perfect opportunity to set fire and spread it to the whole camp. More than once did some tent have to be drenched in water to fight an ambient fire. This was the night Brigid would attack. He was sure of it.

The Broken Blade knew and were plenty ready. Fire-fighting buckets were prepared and stocked in every tent and every member was fully equipped for combat. The moment Brigid attacked they’d get a surprise they wouldn’t retreat from.

The darkness between armies hide the approaching assailants. The torchlight ruining any chance to see until the arrows struck. Only narrowly did the arrow miss his neck--deflecting off his armor by the thinnest of margins. Byleth, Cassandra and Glenn moved to their defense, dodging some, or getting stuck and diving inside the camp.

“Retreat!” Jeralt gave the order and everyone ran towards the main body of the siege camp. The Broken Blade ran from their tents and placements with once-drilled movement. The arrow fire not relenting in the slightest but losing its accuracy and none died, even if a few stumbled.

The Brigid advanced into sight of the torches. Their leathers being shield by dark blue cloth which they tore off and wrapped around their arrowheads. They lit the points on fire using the sconces and arced them into the main body of the encampment.

Just as planned. The Brigid continued to advance as the mercenaries rushed to provide lines of defense or fights the fires in their casual clothing. The few tents around the Brigid only going in flames on intent to shadow their numbers with smoke.

“Here we go.” Jeralt transfer command over to Byleth as he ran off to join Christophe and others in retrieving their horses. The calvary component flanking around the Brigid advance through areas of the camps cleared out specifically for this. With long-handled torches in hand they circled around the line—fifty knights with torches riding into the night and entrapping the Brigid between melee in front and cavalry in back.

The Brigid saw this, set all they could ablaze and between gouts of smoke and flame rushed to the melee they could no longer avoid.

Jeralt’s contingent staked the torches in the ground between camp and city. The Brigid that tried to retreat would be visible prey for the bow knights coming in from the deepest position of the stables.

Half the knights were left to defend the spot while Jeralt led Christophe and the other half into a hard charge on the Brigid flanks. The Brigid had disengaged to the best of their ability but the camps had been repurposed for this purpose and a thick chunk of enemies fell to his lance. It didn’t last long, as the smoke rising quickly struck at eyes beneath helmets and masks.

The cavalry continued to fight with the Brigid forces as they reunited with the Broken Blade. The expert mercenaries now proving themselves a hundred times over as they repelled brigid attacks and pushed back deep. Isolating pockets of enemies and compelling surrender. Soon foreign shouts ran out and the Brigid retreated back into the night.

“Get that fire under control!” This was their job now. The hands that were fighting people now fought fires with all the preparation of three days. It took an hour of hard work but everything set ablaze was under control.

The victory was crushing, and even before the sun was on the horizon. Hundreds of Brigid troops were now prisoners, hundreds more were dead and less than a thousand could have possibly made it back to the city. The horse components waiting afield had done bloody good work.

“Forward!” Count Bergliez’s order rent through the night. The camp so alive for combat now moved to conduct its siege. Towers, ladders, catapults and trebuchets unscathed in the fighting lumbered forth.

Jeralt nodded to his son, who would head south to the gathering aerial wing.

The war would end today.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle of the Dagda and Brigid War occurs. Jeralt and Byleth head for Enbarr and the war officially ends.

**Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

Stone and fire and arrow and smoke engulfed the sky and pushed aside any cloud. Thunder of combat, of lightning, of death. 

The siege on the outer walls was led by teams of fortress knights. Massive, towering infantry clad in armor thick as a house wall, with shields as large as they and twice as thick as their armor. Arrows bounced futilely off the protection they clad in but the defenders had little choice as the heavy infantry were pushing a ram. Attempts to set it ablaze failed, treated in hide and soaked in water not a wisp of flame caught. The lack of magic within the invading armies would prove their downfall.

At the gates desperate shots of ballista and stone were sent at the ram but it rebuffed it as surely as the knights did. The reinforced tree trunk was pulled back, and slammed with a force great enough to be heard even over the sounds of all other combat. The fortress knights added their own damage to the mighty iron gates barring their path. Hammers and axes tore at the barrier with great ferocity.

The gates broke and then came the second wave. Assault infantry, ax fighters and warriors with their deadly edge and tough armor. Alois among them. Orders were orders. The warriors charged into the breach where the fortress knights fought their pitched battle against waves of Dagdan infantry in thick armor all their own. The archers atop the wall set their sights on stopping the reinforcements but as they did lighter infantry, guarded by small shields began their advance on their walls.

As Alois reached the gate and vanished from Jeralt’s sight into that carnage… so did Glenn and Cassandra go up the walls. The defenders above tried to cut and dislodge the grapples. Some succeeded, most failed. The missile cover coming from the Imperial army was too thick by then. Soon they left his sight as well. But so did the Dagdans and Brigid get pushed aside. Ladders followed and cheers of victory rang loud.

It was midday when Jeralt was finally called in. All the cavalry units sent inside the cleared gate square. A tight fit at first, the bodies so thick they needed to be pushed to the sides. Alois lived. Head awash in red but the nod he gave all the sign he was fine. On the open roads and stable cobbles the horses of the Imperial army did their bloody work.

The defenders had spent most of their force distribution trying to hold the walls. The groups inside were few and isolated, easy prey for the superior mobility of the horses. They ran down hundreds of Dagdans with significant ease and broke into the inner layers of the city. So many of the buildings inside damaged from battle new and old. Far in the distance, with smoke dominating the bay, were the Dagdan ships ablaze. Byleth was there. Winning. Jeralt would do the same.

The cavalry divided and took key crossroads within the city. Enemy forces were driving into them, or forced down longer paths. Few bothered to surrender now. The battle wore on as the city and ships and people burned. Slowly the sun began its descent. Soon the fires engulfing the city provided more light than it.

Exhaustion wore at them worse than any Dagdan blade and soon the invaders from the sea began to surrender in droves. Jeralt put them with a guard detail and continued through the streets.

Down one street Count Bergliez marched, the banner of his house carried behind him. A hundred-odd troops among the best the Empire had. Bloodied and beaten even in victory of their own.

“Good work, Jeralt,” Bergliez said. “The final push is underway. Clear the path to the port.”

With a firm acknowledgement the cavalry turned about and charged towards the open sea. Only a handful of troops bothered to stall them. This wouldn’t last until night.

Along the way they came across some sort of public park. Trees and bushes and a little pond for days without war. In the distance a few Dagdan ships still held in the docks but the fleet at sea was sinking beneath the waves. The many wings of pegasus and wyvern dominating the horizon as much as smoke. Byleth was there, somewhere, victorious as ever.

Bergliez and his troop followed in, regrouping their forces in the center of the area. Then from the trees dropped Brigid soldiers. A fair number, seventy maybe. Not enough to win, but enough to kill. Assassinate the count and throw the battle into disarray. 

Then why didn’t they ambush? Instead they stood with their bows notched as one among their number strode forward. A familiar someone, even after all this time. The High One. The Prince of Brigid.

“Empire man,” he spoke with a thick accent on all the wrong syllables. “You and me: fight.” His swords pointed at the count. “I win: Brigid free. You win: Brigid fight no more.” 

“What… proof, you are a man of your word?”

“My word is king’s word.” he pulled down his hood. The dark purple braids of his hair falling out. “Mark of rule.” He touched his cheek, where a circle with points was tattooed. The rest of the Brigid lowered their hoods. Others had tattoos of their own, but none with the same distinct mark.

“So you’re the ‘High One’, eh?” Bergliez grinned at the threat. “Why should I accept this, rather than run you through?”

“You: man of word. Good to Brigid you hold.”

“The prisoners, I take it?” The High One nodded. “Well…” Bergliez raised his fists and raised his smile to a full-blown eagerness. “I was hoping for a proper fight before this was over!”

This was incredibly stupid and Jeralt wasn’t stupid enough to talk someone who looked like a little kid out of it. But for the sake of curbing some of the stupid, Jeralt said to the count, “I winged his right shoulder pretty bad in an earlier engagement. Maybe it’s healed. Maybe it hasn’t.”

“Think I need the help, do you?”

“No. But take whatever advantage you can get anyway.”

Bergliez smirked and strode forward. In response so did the Brigid prince. The twin swords of silver matched by the two silver gauntlets of the count. In reserve the count had a pair of sharp hand axes, a wonderful little surprise. While the prince held behind a short bow and a quiver of five arrows.

Bergliez exploded with a war cry that deafened the whole of combat and ran outward with a burst of speed that could match a horse for the briefest of moments. His fists flung fast and precise and the Brigid prince had no choice but to give ground. His propes with blades blocked expertly by the count. Bergliez went in low with an uppercut and broke through both blade’s defense and landed a swift blow to the chest.

The prince rolled back and bounded on his feet to give momentum to a forward swing. Bergliez blocked with his gauntlets but the scrap let the second blade swing in and land a hit to the side. The armor took the hit, but a rent was formed.

Bergliez stepped in and hammered in both fists from the side. The prince again blocking with both blades but the impact knocking him back. His right lagging behind. He attempted to bounce back, but it was countered by the count running in with a quick jab to the face. The prince fell down—kicked at Bergliez’s leg. It didn’t drop him but he had to shuffle about, letting the Brigid raise back up.

“You’re not bad.”

“Empire man: you strong.”

Both of them were smiling now. Friends across the battlefield. He’d heard worse tales.

The two continued their furious exchange of blows. Neither relenting, or making progress for a solid minute. Bergliez’s thicker armor was fatiguing him faster in light of the extreme combat he’d already done. The Brigid prince slowly wearing him out until the count’s defense on the left faltered. The prince propped with a number of attacks and Bergliez’s defense eroded—gone entirely. A swift strike at the joints rendered Bergliez unable to raise his left arm and one alone couldn’t fend off attacks from both blades. He was pushed back, wounds on every part of his body but his spirit never faltered and his guard held.

The Brigid prince drove his left-hand blade forward and locked with the right gauntlet. His left came low and stabbed into the rut he’d made in the early part of their duel. The sword went in deep and ran red down its length. He grinned like he was a hunter finishing off his prey.

But Bergliez grinned too. The deception complete, he lashed out with his left fist into the right shoulder of the Brigid. Forced back, both swords slipped from his grip. One still in the count’s gut as he advanced and unleashed a full swing. The prince barely rose a guard but the mighty fists of the count hammered past and struck hard against the face. The Brigid prince spun backwards, and fell.

Bergliez removed the sword and struck it in the ground while the prince forced himself up. Their bodies swayed and shook from all their injuries. For all the difference in wounds they’d received it looked near even. Bergliez’s strike was as huge as damaging to the prince as the blade to the count’s gut was. The next exchange would decide it.

Bergliez slammed his fists together. Some of the damage he’d taken fading away from his healing focus. Not something to rely on in a war, but endlessly useful for a duel like this. The Brigid prince had to attack or lose on sheer vigor.

He bolted forward, low and fast. Bergliez readied his arms like pillars, leaving his middle open to a jab the prince could not throw. Just as the prince wanted. Five steps out he threw an arrow and Bergliez was forced to protect his head. The prince slide in, retrieved his lost sword and stabbed at Bergliez’s weak spot!

But it was too slow. A wince of pain flashed across the Brigid’s face. The wound to his shoulder slowed the swing and Bergliez caught him. He twisted the sword aside, locked fists across both and the two men slammed their heads together. Bloody grins at the sight.

The prince lost ground on his right side, Bergliez overpowering him despite the stab to the count’s side. He pushed the Brigid prince to the ground and brought an ax to his neck. “Surrender.”

He shook his head so slightly it drew blood. “Brigid pride. Prey does not survive hunter. Empire man: keep promise.”

Bergliez leaned down, low and quiet. Whatever he said sent shock and wide eyes across the prince. In his tongue he shouted and all the soldiers of his country laid down their arms. “I surrender.”

“Good.” Bergliez had too sinister a smirk to have said anything positive to him. “Good.”

Cleanup didn’t take much longer after that. The Brigid forces all surrendering in good order once their prince was prisoner. The Dagdans were a harder fought, but the eventual bleak hopelessness of their cause set in once the last of their ships were aflame. The commanders tried to keep them fighting but their threats could only do so much.

The sun was setting when the last vestiges surrendered. Everything still bright with the city ablaze. Firefighting efforts continued late into the night. Even the prisoners press ganged into providing aid. 

Jeralt exhausted to near collapse after an entire straight day’s worth of combat but he kept on working until every member of the Broken Blade was accounted for. Byleth had made it without a single scratch, the aerial wing he’d accompanied practically praying to him in light of his impromptu leadership. Glenn had gone up the walls, learning firsthand the brutality of key point fighting. He was wracked and wounded but the exhaustion had a smile on his lips all the same. Christophe had led another of the cavalry detachments inside the city to great success. At one point he’d even saved a townhouse full of residents from the Dagdans taking them hostage. Cassandra had come out as wounded as she always got and as cheery as ever. She’d fought all over without an idea of specifics. Alois had been part of the group breaking down the defenses on the other side of the gate. He’d made one hell of an impression chopping through his enemies and there were plenty of singing his praises and groaning at puns.

Reo, Seth and Sain were found with stories their own. Imperials like Joshua and Natasha thankful for the help of their countrymen. But for the first time in a while there were dead among the Blade. He never forgot it was a possibility, but any commander wanted to come out with none. Ten more now joined the funeral detail. Able, Marty, Ronin. If the Imperials left there’d only be thirteen or so returning to Garreg Mach. Ten, once Cassandra, Christophe and Glenn left. There’d been worse loses in history. Didn’t mean it didn’t sting after all the years.

He poured a bottle out for the fallen as the flames raged onwards.

**Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1175**

It felt like the longest Lone Moon of his life. Like all the fighting and celebration in the entire war only lasted these thirty days.

The celebration lasted the last days of the year as the victorious Imperial army reclaimed the land it had lost. Soldiers whooping with victory, conquered people running through the streets . The incredible number of prisoners captured by the offensive were moved outside and rounded up in the tents that once housed the very army that captured them. The soldiers assigned to guard duty were less happy, until they got a pay increase.

Eventually after a week Jeralt was called up to Count Bergliez. He’d set up his new billet in the manor of House Nuvelle but still looked like he’d just dragged himself across the battlefield. There came a simple order: “You’re going to Enbarr.”

—-

The Imperial Capital was just as impressive as he once remembered it. The ancient buildings of the Empire imposing and large. The new replacements molded with the same care and blue-white stonework. The banner of the nation hung from every other building as even after two weeks the celebration saw no end. A massive parade for the conquering heroes that Jeralt and the Broken Blade had no part with. Even the prisoners from Dagda and Brigid were “part” of the festivities as Count Bergliez had them march. The chief prize being the Prince of Brigid. Clad in as much dignity as they let him.

While not part of the victory march, the chests full of pay certainly lent themselves well to spending and the Broken Blade enjoyed themselves with a ferocity that paled the celebration in Nuvelle.

Jeralt received a new message from Count Bergliez during a round of drinking and it made him slap himself sober. He was to stand before the emperor.

A thousand reasons ran why but none rose above the crowd. This was gonna be difficult, and even worse was Byleth’s invitation at well. But he could not refuse an invitation of royalty. Even shadowed by another’s hand.

He had to buy Byleth a new coat despite his early statement. He couldn’t let his son go in unprepared. This meant new dress clothes for himself too, even if he felt like a fool. It exhausted enough gold to pay for a month’s supplies but they had new clothes, trimmed in gold and deep red with a luxurious black base. Alike the Academy uniforms in some ways.

They weren’t the only ones who had to get cleaned. When they met with Count Bergliez in the Imperial Palace the wild soldier had been completely changed. His beard was shaved completely, his hair cut to a fine shortage that did not even reach his ears. The dress jacket long in its tail, dark red in color and trimmed with gold. Black plants and boots so dark they’d never seen a scuff of dirt. All the burseque nature turned into dreadful noble etiquette.

“So,” said Jeralt, “what’s this all about? The message was pretty vague.”

Bergliez grinned a tad. “That little shoulder trick of yours was why I was able to take the prince alive. With him Gerth’s wringing Brigid dry. So we’re here to thank you.”

Not something he wanted to be thanked for. “I don’t see why it deserves a royal audience.”

That cheer on the count’s face faded fast. “Neither do I. Duke Aegir set the meeting. I don’t know why, but be careful. There’s always a plan behind his lips.” With that warning he walked down the halls of the Imperial Palace.

It was Byleth who broke the odd silence. “Should we do this?” Byleth asked.

It was the closest they’d gotten to Volkhard. Damn straight they were doing this. “Be on your best behaviour.”

They were announced and escorted into the throne room of the Empire. The carpet rich in red leading its way up the steps to where the emperor sat on his plain throne. Every arm's length aside the carpet was elite Imperial Guard, each one armed and ready to dispatch any who threatened their liege. Save his usurpers.

Bergliez and Hevring were in the audience of nobles beyond them. Each within their own cliques of soldiers and officials. Other men in similar fancy dress presiding along. Vestra, Gerth and Varley in assumption. And standing by the side of the throne was a bulging man who could only be the prime minister. Six of those responsible for taking the emperor’s power. The seventh, the very one he came for, absent. Where was Volkhard?

Jeralt and Byleth knelt at the stairs that led to the throne, to the emperor. The mighty emperor of the strongest nation in Fódlan. Standing tall over a war won in a year. A man who looked more corpse than living being.

Emperor Ionious von Hresvelg IX looked down with tired grey eyes. His skin was near grey from some condition, his hair and beard still well-groomed despite the domination of white, but thinning enough to see skin beneath. Every breath seemed to labor him, even from a distance. “Rise, Sir Jeralt.” His voice hoarse as if he’d never gone a day without coughing. “I would commend your bravery on the field of battle personally.”

“You do me great honor, Your Majesty.”

Against all his pain the man smiled. “I remember well our time at the Officers Academy. Those memories a welcome refuge from these days of now.”

“Your Majesty,” the bulbous man next to him spoke up. His voice was high-pitched yet whiny and weasley. How this man overthrew Ionious he’d never know. “It would be best for your health if you rewarded these… men,” he barely restrained his disgust, “as soon as possible.”

A personal reward from the emperor?

“Indeed,” though his face contorted nothing like he agreed. “Count Bergliez has informed me that your actions were commendable in the safeguarding of our dear nation. For that, a reward of 50,000 gold has been prepared. To be shared at your discretion.”

That was less than his salary if he stayed at the monastery. Nothing compared to the money the Broken Blade had lost in total. “I am honored, Your Majesty.”

“Go. And live well.” The emperor was rocked with a restrained cough beyond his words.

Jeralt and Byleth bowed and moved to leave.

“Jeralt.” All eyes turned to the emperor who spoke beyond his strings. Duke Aegir’s beady little eyes flaring with a threat. “Take care of your son.”

“I will, Your Majesty.”

And they left. The message clear, but impossible to carry out. He thought too highly of him. Everyone did.

And no Volkhard meant no truth. Dammit, it was a long shot, but it was all he had.

“Why are you mad?” Byleth asked.

“I… I was hoping for more.” It would have been stupid for Volkhard to show his face. Stupid to try and provoke the situation like he did with Lambert and Patricia. But maybe he should have done more. Between him and Byleth there was a shot of coming out on top.

“More what?”

Jeralt looked around for spies or eavesdroppers. None that he could tell. He leaned in and whispered, “I wanted to find out who stabbed you in Fhirdiad.”

The question brought no change to Byleth’s face. “They’re here?”

“Maybe.” He looked around at the halls. “Or maybe I’m just thinking too hard.”

“Then we should find out.” Not emotional, but interested. That was good, at least.

“I’d love to but…” then what? Make an enemy of the whole Empire? Bring the Kingdom to war? How many thousands would die for his son? What was he doing here in the first place, pursuing this? Would he have charged into Brigid or Dagda had they done harm to him? “We should just go back. Back to Garreg Mach.” Away from it all. The answer could rot.

“Why are you scared?”

_ For you. _ “I don’t want you to become like Ionious. A prisoner in his own palace. Having his family used as hostages to ensure his cooperation.” Bitterness at the ugliness of it all exited his mouth without restraint or care.

“Then let’s rescue them.” What an utterly ridiculous idea. Lucky no one overheard him.

“Want to save a pretty, pretty princess for yourself?” Heh. “Never lose your heart, kid.” Even if it didn’t beat.

“My, my, is that not Jeralt I see before me?”

Every sense of dread and reflection fell as Jeralt turned to see Volkhard von Arundel standing before him. “I was wondering where you were.”

“What can I say?” Volkhard hobbled forward using a cane to balance a sluggish left leg. “These days all the stairs make it hard to be on time for ceremony.”

Three more years hadn’t done much to change the man’s looks beyond that cane and leg. His hair raven-black and smoothed long. His goatee cut sharp. His clothes a bright red with beige patches around it but expertly tailored and adorned with rubies around his collar.

“My apologies,” he faked it, “I wasn’t aware of your loss.”

“Hardly worth a comment.” He stopped arms length in front of them. “With how many we just lost in this war, this is below consideration.”

“So, you did fight on the front?”

“Alas, no, this injury is many years old now.”

That was peculiar. He’d been fine when Jeralt left and there’d been no interception on his way back to the Empire. Did someone here, do it? Ensure he never ran from the Empire again? “I’m surprised to see you, considering the last conversation we had.”

Volkhard’s brow went flat. “Yes. That. It is regrettable, but in light of such baseless accusations I had to do what was best for my niece and me.”

_ Her being locked up here certainly wasn’t for her best. _ “Her being locked up here certainly wasn’t for her best.” What the hell did he just say?

His nostrils flared, eyes went narrow and cheeks burned red. If he hadn’t been infirm he was certain Volkhard would have slapped him. “After your odious failure protecting my sister you’ve no room to talk.”

This was the exact sort of diplomatic disaster he wanted to prevent in the throne room and here he was running into it head first. “You weren’t with her either.”

“I am not like Lambert, dragging a child into a warzone.”

Son of a bitch knew exactly what was going to happen, didn’t he?

“What?” Byleth’s sudden outburst drew attention… to him actually looking confused.

“Does something ail you young man?”

_ Yes. _ “It’s been a long war without a lot of food. I’d better get him back to his room before he does anything unseemly.” 

“Oh? Really Jeralt, bringing children on the battlefield now? Very well. I do hope we get to chat further in the future, Jeralt. There is much to discuss.” Volkhard circled around them and left towards the throne room.

“You all right kid?”

“Yes.” But he was gripping his head like it’d been smashed with a hammer. And his face… His brows were narrowed, his eyes half-closed and his cheeks raised. 

He was angry.

He was actually angry.

“Do you… remember?”

“Remember what?”

No. But his body did. “That he may be the man who stabbed you.”

“No, I don’t remember.”

Kid didn’t lie. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

That brief stint of anger faded away before they left the palace. But that level of emotion pushed even further that Volkhard was behind the stabbing. Why he did it was another story. 

But what could he do about it, in the heart of the Empire? That kind of thing was for the church’s shadow divisions. Would Rhea care enough to assassinate a regent because he harmed Byleth?

No, it was a stupid thought. This whole thing had been stupid. But they needed to do it. If ever there was a way to get at Volkhard at least they knew.

Back at the big stone inn Alois was waiting for them. “Good news, Captain,” the man said. “Lady Rhea’s arrived in Enbarr.”

That was quick. “Is she meeting with the emperor?” There wasn’t nearly enough security on the streets for a public visit.

“No, she’s actually taken a relief corps to the injured.”

People over politics. She deserved pure praise for that. “Is there that many injured in the Imperial army over here, though?” Most of them should have remained at Nuvelle or whatever base they were in in western Adrestia.

“That’s the thing, she’s actually tending to the prisoners from Brigid and Dagda.”

Smart. The Empire might not want to waste resources on tending to commoner prisoners but letting Rhea do it was nothing but a benefit to them.

“Let’s go,” said Byleth.

“Easy now, you just recovered.”

“Err, recovered?” Alois was half-confused.

“Imperial politics are a nasty business.”

“I’ve trained for situations like these. I can help Rhea with the wounded.”

Well, it was the best situation to meet with her and come up with something subtle. “All right. But if you start feeling light-headed again I want you to stop.”

“Right.”

“Alois, get the rest of the Broken Blade to join us.”

“Right away, Captain.”

A few minutes later and they were heading out of the city to the enormous prison camps dug out on the outside of the city. Far out of the way of trade routes, but still enough to be a giant eyesore while looking out from the walls.

Getting there was easy. Getting in proved slightly more difficult The whole perimeter was guards and dirt walls with a few spikes and ditches. Something easy to break out of if they tried anything, so a band of heavily armed mercenaries showing up and looking for access was something to pause about.

Until Professor Manuela came out and insisted they were with the church. That changed the guard’s position right quick.

“Thanks, Manuela,” he said as they walked inside the environs. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Of course,” she said. “Even if I’ve left it behind I’ve still plenty of friends in the Empire. I just wanted to make sure my talents were used the best they can.”

“Can’t be easy helping the people who ransacked your country.”

“No. But the war’s over. We’re all just people now. Whether it’s from the Empire or not.”

“You’re a good woman, Manuela.”

“Good enough for a date?”

There was classic Manuela back. “Sorry, still spoken for.”

“Really, Jeralt. Getting a woman’s hopes up like that. I hope you weren’t such a tease with your wife.”

“Heh, maybe.” He’d spent more years beyond her than with now. Everything he’d committed to memory would fog over one day. Just like his parents.

Manuela led them passed all of the prisoners. Too many, really. The Empire would have trouble feeding this many people. Why had they been dragged halfway across Fódlan to here? Didn’t make much sense to him.

Either way, they reached a wooden bunkhouse. The Crest of Seiros on a banner above it. Inside was filled with shouts and screams and blood as all sorts of medical personnel attempted to help the injured prisoners. Lady Rhea among the caregivers. Her hands touched with healing as she went from one patient to the other without rest. As much as the tenants derided other countries, she still wasn’t willing to leave people in need like this if she could help it.

Jeralt couldn’t help with the injuries beyond some bandaging he’d learned over the lifetime. Byleth and a few others could though and went to making sure Lady Rhea didn’t exhaust herself taking care of everyone. The rest of the Broken Blade contributed by helping make sure violent prisoners were made less violent and bringing in medical supplies or escorting new injured prisoners in.

It was exhausting work and even by the time dusk settled in they hadn’t helped half the camp. And a good chunk ended up dead anyway. It wasn’t a disaster yet but so many wounded and dying and dead in one place like this could invite disease that could reach the city. Even if the Empire had no desire to save these men they could at least care about themselves.

But that was the work for people with authority. Which didn’t include him at the moment.

When everyone was pushed past their limits Jeralt insisted on a return to the city. The Broken Blade escorted the church detachment back to the city itself. Then he got as much rest and relaxation could be afforded before Lady Rhea summoned him.

It was a lavish room, filled with too much furniture, too large a bed and too huge a fireplace. “I am glad to see you well, Jeralt.”

“Please forgive my impudence in leaving the Knights of Seiros, Your Grace.”

“That is quite all right in light of your valiance upon the field of battle.” Song and dance as expected. “How fares your son?”

“He is well. His skill in battle may even surpass my own, at this point.”

She shared with him a wide smile. “That is a relief to hear. And the others?” Jeralt and Rhea exchanged a conversation of the state of the war, and their participation in it. “Though my heart grieves for all whom we have lost, I welcome the end of this conflict and those who have endured its hardships.”

“We’ll be glad to return to the flock.” Much as the freedom agreed with him. It would be nice to have some stability for a year or two again.

“The preparations will begin in earnest. Now,” her facade dropped, “has your other purpose been fulfilled?”

“I think so,” he answered. “I can’t be absolutely certain, but I strongly believe that the Empire’s Lord Arundel is responsible for the attack on my son.” But Lambert and Duscur? Difficult to say. The way he snapped about Duscur. About his sister. That wound was still raw, even after these years. If he knew about it in advance like the timing suggested, things hadn’t gone as he expected. “Duscur is unclear, but my suspicions are still on him as a perpetrating party.” He’d escaped from the Empire and bartered his sister royalty within months. Killing her, and practicing that anger would entirely be within his skillset.

“That is a troubling truth. What led you to this conclusion?”

“A small confrontation, directly before our reunion. Byleth acted strangely around the man.”

“How strange?” she reacted quickly.

“Like he was remembering the trauma, but not the source.”

“Oh.” Whatever eagerness she wanted faded away. “I prayed for more, even if your judgment is trusted.”

That left one question. “What are we going to do about it?”

“There is little we can do.”

The answer he didn’t want to hear. “I don’t want him to get away with this.”

“If you reveal his culpability, it will only lead to another war.”

“I know.” A frustrated sigh escaped him. “But he has to be planning something. The Empire didn’t take advantage of Lambert’s death like they should have if they were responsible for it. If we don’t stop him, or his cohorts, there may be a bigger war coming entirely.”

“Your frustrations resonate. Should his guilt be beyond doubt the church would pass punishment regardless but without it…”

Maybe there was some document detailing all his plans in full sitting and waiting somewhere in the palace. Or that was just wishful thinking.

“I’ll see what I can do. Unofficially, of course.”

It was about the best it was gonna get. No matter what her intent for Byleth, she truly cared for his well being. “Thank you, Lady Rhea.”

“Thank you, for always being by my side, Jeralt.”

How easily that could not have been.

**Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1176**

It took a few weeks to settle their affairs in Enbarr. Unofficially reintegrating the Broken Blade with the church and spreading the news to the remaining members. To his surprise, everyone wanted to stay on board. Official or not, they’d gotten through the war together. Unlike so many others.

Still had to make sure Glenn, Christophe and Cassandra were removed though, despite the latter’s protests. A few commoners and minor noblemen were fine. Heirs to some of the most prestigious houses in Faerghus were a bit out of affair.

There was some other rumors spreading out regarding the negotiations with Brigid and Dagda. Brigid capitulated instantly, even before Lone Moon was over. Having their crown prince under thumb sure expedited that. Dagda on the other hand, completely shut off all communication. They were leaving tens of thousands of their own people to rot and die in a foreign land. Pretty scummy.

What to do with them was a fierce debate that didn’t really matter to Jeralt, even as Lady Rhea continued to take care of the injured. Some of them even started to get fervently devoted to her. Siding with her over their own people when fights erupted. That was her greatest strength, in the end. How easily she got people to believe in her. Like him, once upon that time.

Before they headed back he checked in with his people, old and new and borrowed. Glenn and Cassandra meeting over the edge of some canal, already in a heavy debate.

“—if they invade we can’t count on the weather to stop them,” said Glenn when Jeralt came within earshot.

“The weather stops us cold as much as them. Or did, anyway,” Cassandra replied. “Maybe we can use what we saw here.”

“Our snows aren’t as kind as theirs.”

“Just means it will stop them and—hey, Jeralt! Never figured you for a sneak.”

“Well, I wanted to find the right time to interrupt,” he said back. “Thinking of your chances if the countries go to war?”

“Fighting’s what we’re best at,” said Cassandra with a grin and an attitude that cared nothing if anyone overheard. “Won’t stop now.”

“Faerghus has always partially relied on the idea of the winter stopping any Imperial advance, like it affected the War of the Eagle and Lion. But Count Bergliez’s tactics have shown otherwise,” said Glenn. “They’ve been preparing for this.”

“We’ll just have to make up for it ourselves,” said Cassandra.

But Glenn was looking mighty grim at it all. “I’d rather avoid another continental war.”

“Your loss.”

“Indeed.” His smile indicated otherwise.

Looks like he got some good lessons out of this. “Here’s hoping someone like you can keep the warmongers in check.”

Glenn forced a chuckle at the thought. “It’ll be difficult enough convincing my father this was for the benefit of Faerghus. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t make attempts south to retrieve me. Still, vile as the circumstances have been, if good comes from it, so be it.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Cassandra. “And speaking of good, you should be getting Aegis Shield once you get back? Perfect time to test out which Relic is better.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

* * *

Jeralt cleared things with a few other members of the Broken Blade before finding Christophe and Alois together in a nearby restaurant. They were already well and done but they invited him to dine anyway.

“Something the matter, Captain?” Alois asked before food even arrived.

“Nah, just checking up on everyone before we head back to Garreg Mach.”

Alois nodded like he’d said some wise thing. “That’s the captain for you. Always caring about the men.”

“Something to aspire too,” said Christophe. “I think I’d like to take time as an official knight of Seiros, sometime in the future.”

“Ha! What a wonderful idea! I’ve always wanted a squire of myself!”

“Errr…

“I’ll show you the finest ax-work in the knights. Show you how to get up close and hit hard with your fists. The enemy will never know what hit them.”

“Well…”

“And then we’ll get you some real armor. You’ll be a ‘great’ knight before you know it.”

Christophe just stared at him. “Yes. Sometime in the future. A long, long time in the future.”

“I’m looking forward to it!”

Alois laughed. And Jeralt laughed. And the food came and it was laudable.

* * *

Byleth he found last, more because he was in the last place Jeralt expected with the last person he did.

He and Manuela were taking a tour of the city and it was only by chance Jeralt found them in front of some big building.

“Oh, Jeralt, interrupting your son on my wonderful tour,” her tone at odds with her words. “Really, you have to let your son leave the nest sometime.”

“I didn’t even know you were with him.”

“Oh, so you’d be fine with knowing I was with him?” A hungry smile developed across her lips.

“I do trust you, Manuela.”

“Good to know I still have a chance.” She winked at him. “But really, I was just showing your son around my old home town. In case he ever wanted to take a girl for a tour himself.”

“If that ever happened he’d have my blessing.” But as Byleth stood there dead-eyed it seemed impossible.

“You say that now... But… well, maybe you would be fine with it,” she said, looking back at the building behind her. “The Mittelfrank Opera House. It’s still magnificent, even after all these years.”

Mittelfrank? “Isn’t this where you used to sing?”

Manuela giggled. “You do care. Yes, I was the diva who took the opera world by storm! And within my protégé still sings as divine as ever.”

“Pleasant meeting, I hope?”

“She’s a brilliant girl. Maybe you’ll see her on stage on day. They’ll be preparing an end-of-war celebration soon. I could get us tickets…”

“Thanks, but we’re all gonna be heading back to Garreg Mach soon enough.”

“Ah, a shame. But the offer will still be there.”

“Thank you, Manuela.”

Byleth didn’t seem much interested in conversation anyway so he left the two alone and headed back.

A few days later the majority of the church’s personnel in Enbarr packed up and headed back home to Garreg Mach. Their numbers higher than when they arrived. Their spirits hardened and forged anew. 

And the dark truth of what happened in Fhirdiad ever closer to the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that ends the Empire section of Broken Blade.
> 
> A prize of a thumbs up if you can guess where we're going next.


	12. Chapter 12

_ Imperial Year 1175. The nations of Brigid and Dagda declare war on the Adrestian Empire. Their initial assault meets wild success, destroying the Empire’s western fleet and capturing massive chunks of territory in the western reaches of the Empire. The Imperial army is slow to react, wary of an invasion by the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, letting the invaders from across the sea consolidate their gains. _

_ By Garland Moon, Count Horace von Bergliez, Minister of Military Affairs for the Empire and Commander-in-Chief at war, begins a massive counterattack. His strategies are wildly successful, pushing back the combined armies of the two nations on all fronts. Unable to deal defeat to the Empire in the field, the two armies retreat to Port Nuvelle, the center of operations for their invasion. Destroying every town and city and field on their retreat in an effort to stymie the Imperial advance. _

_ Count Bergliez is undeterred, and successfully retakes the city before the end of the year. The great naval fleets of Brigid and Dagda sunk in a surprise attack of pegasus and wyverns. Prisoners reach the tens of thousands, among them the prince of Brigid, Petros Macneary. _

_ The Empire leverages the prisoners to force Brigid back into vassalization. Prince Petros and his daughter are kept as political hostages in the Empire’s capital of Enbarr to dissuade any further attempts at aggression by the archipelago nation. _

_ Dagda refuses. Tens of thousands of soldiers waste away as prisoners on forgein soil as the Dagdan government collapses in civil war over the issue. The Empire, uncaring for the prisoners without the potential to gain, lets them loose. The lucky and cunning find employment. The fortunate make their way east, to the Leicester Alliance and find a life for themselves there. _

_ Most die. _

_ Imperial Year 1176. To the north, tensions between the Kingdom and Empire ease in light of the Kingdom’s lack of intervention during the newly-named Dagda and Brigid War. Key political scions put pressure on Regent Rufus and the troops along the border are lessened in number, earning a similar response on the Imperial side of the border. _

_ Yet the number of troops in the royal army ever increases. The surviving men of Duscur are pushed into “repentance” brigades and treated as disposable troops for the ongoing conflict with Sreng to the north. Their families held hostage by Viscount Kleiman’s soldiers, they have little choice but to obey. _

_ Tensions between Rufus and the crown prince rise even higher. Talk of civil war paves the streets much like cobblestone. _

_ The Central Church proves unwilling to interfere further, while the Western Church slides its influences into both camps. _

_ Two years later… _

**Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1178**

Each clash of blade and lance sent rumbles down his arms. The welcome tension of a full-out battle between Father and Son. Man versus man. Onlookers took their sides, shouted their encouragement and stood in awe at the display before them.

Jeralt’s lance thrusts were blocked at sharp angles or knocked away entirely with full force. Byleth’s attempts to intrude on his reach were stopped by Jeralt’s footwork keeping his son ever at effective range. Both were well-rested and could continue the combat for an hour. Byleth’s expanding stamina with full force would not earn him a defeat here.

Jeralt dipped his lance low and came in upward, away from the guard of his son. Byleth stepped back with conscious knowledge of the terrain and locked his blade with the underside of the lance. He moved in as Jeralt reangled his weapon to the sky and struck with the shaft itself. Byleth slide blade down shaft but Jeralt locked him in the mid and could strike with either end. He misdirected to the butt and came about with the point.

Byleth grabbed the center of the shaft to buy time and angled his sword for a stab. Jeralt pulled back with his son still locking the weapon and kicked him off and back. Stumbling son- Jeralt pressed onwards fast as he could stab.

Byleth lashed out with a fast kick of his own that just narrowly disrupted Jeralt from landing the winning blow. The lance landed between the gap between Byleth’s left arm and body. His sword struck upwards and Jeralt dodged to the right. Using his new leverage he sprained his spear into Byleth’s side.

The hit sent Byleth three steps over. Not even wincing in pain though. “It’s my win,” Jeralt said. He took in a deep breath and held his hand out. “You got too eager trying to grab my weapon.”

Byleth took his hand and rose up. “I should have used both. Or used my sword as leverage.”

“Quick as ever.” Jeralt was running out of moves that worked.

The students and knights were hollering at the victory. Some probably even made money off it at this point. Alois had told him there was a gambling ring going on for their fights but he could never get to the source of it.

“That’s the kind of thing that won’t work in most circumstances,” Jeralt quieted down their uproar. “If their armor’s too thick, it won’t work. If they’ve got allies, it won’t work. Keep your head clear and understand what makes the battle then strike.” That sounded terrible. “That’s all for today. Dismissed.”

Jeralt fended off the usual second wave of instruction. He had little else to do but no care. This year’s batch of brats were… boring. No one could give Byleth an even half-decent challenge. 

After the past few years though, it was a welcome relief. The Eagles and Lions were finally getting along again and the pockets of the Deer weren’t bulging with coin by exploiting both. It wasn’t quite the friendships that formed across house lines but it was leagues better than the constant attempts at violence.

“Captain, there you are.”

“Hello, Alois,” said Jeralt. “Anything exciting happening today?” Alois was back to trying to grow a beard. Making sure he kept it nice and thick this time around.

“Lady Rhea’s called for you.”

“Tell me this isn’t something major again, Alois?” Certainly had that feel about it. Like Faerghus, and Adrestia.

“No rush this time, Captain. Just your next duty assignment. Important, but not something that needs to be addressed immediately.”

Still an excuse to ditch the class. “It’s fine. I’ll head up right away.” Jeralt turned to face his son. “Make sure the brats don’t do anything stupid.”

“Right.”

Alois wasn’t invited, so it was Jeralt alone who headed back up to the audience chamber. Rhea and Seteth were discussing something else with a monk, which meant he had to wait, but they hurried their business up to speak with him.

“Jeralt,” said Seteth, “I do believe I instructed Alois that this was not an urgent matter.”

“Best not to keep you waiting in either case.”

“Your alacrity is appreciated,” Rhea said with a slight smile. “Before the year’s end I will be leading a delegation to the Leicester Alliance.”

It was something that only happened a handful of times outside crowning the new emperor or king but Rhea did visit the nations. “So, I’ll be tasked with security for this? What’s our route planned to be? Or is that on me?”

“The last,” said Seteth, “you’ll be leading an advance party while I conduct personal security for the archbishop.”

Odd. “You don’t want the captain to accompany you? Alois can handle an advance party by himself.”

“I understand the concern,” said Rhea, “but Seteth and the Saint Battalions will be shield enough for my person.”

The battalions named after the Four Saints were the biggest zealots in the entire church. If they were on duty this was bigger than they were letting on. “What’s this visit about, then?”

“In light of the Western Church’s… concerns, it has become apparent that we need to renew our ties to the Eastern Church. They’ve longed since wished for official sanction to raise their own forces and this journey is in part to conduct diplomacy with them.”

“Won’t that just repeat the same issue we currently have with the west?”

“That is a concern, I admit. But limiting their fighting force to acceptable numbers is within reason.”

And bringing some of the toughest knights with them would send a pretty big sign to never try anything. “Is this only about the Eastern Church? Seems you wouldn’t need me to clear the way if that was just the problem.”

“How astute of you,” said Seteth. “Yes, we are also intending visits to Count Glouscter, Fódlan’s Locket and Derdriu, the Aquatic Capital.”

Some concerning locales. The Glouscter lands were having some monster problems. Problems that resulted in the death of Godfrey von Reigan, heir to the foremost House of the Alliance. Fódlan’s Locket was being constantly attacked by Almyrans from the east and Derdriu may have been peaceful, but who knew, for real? It started making a lot more sense to send him forward.

Still, if the Indech Swordfighters or Cichol’s Wyverns were going with them they weren’t gonna be in any danger. But orders were orders. “I’ll make sure the Broken Blade are ready and able.” Their numbers had swelled to over a hundred at this point so it would take most of the day to get them ready.

“Please ensure you’re ready to depart before Wyvern Moon,” said Seteth. We wish to depart after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.”

“Traveling in winter isn’t the best idea.” Jeralt shrugged.

“I am more than capable of enduring a little cold, Jeralt.” She almost seemed cross with him. 

“I meant no offense, of course. It will just make traveling more difficult for all of us.” The weather was mild now, but that blizzard storming into that scene five years ago was something he’d always keep with him.

“The goddess will ensure we’re all well taken care of.” She smiled too serenely. “In addition, I would also like you to take Gilbert and Shamir with you.”

_ Huh. _ “Not that I would say no, but is there a reason?”

“With the Leicester Alliance housing a significant population of displaced Dagdans, having Shamir on side would prove helpful if anything untoward happens.” _ Makes sense. _ “As for Gilbert, you’ve only worked together twice before, so consolidating two of our greatest knights together would spare any worry over the safety of this mission.” And he knew exactly where this conversation was going. “How is your child doing?”

“Not quite ready to overtake his old man just yet.” Maybe next year.

“He is lucky to have a father as wonderful as you are.”

“Thank you.” Even if he didn’t fully agree. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll start my preparations.”

“Goddess watch over you.”

There was nothing else, so Jeralt went out to gather up the Broken Blade. Byleth first, typically accepting in his own stoic way. Alois threw himself in with gusto. Reo, Seth, and Joshua. All the dependable knights and squires from their campaign in the Empire. Then the new additions they’d brought in to keep them at one hundred six men. Each and every one of them accepting without a pause. There’d always been comraderie among the Knights of Seiros, but something about the Broken Blade was even closer. Maybe he was just imagining it, or maybe going through a war did make them close. Maybe if they ever left, they would follow…

Heh, he’d been thinking about leaving for so long. Lying to himself that he might. But this was his home, for now and forever. He’d lost the ability to cut his own future the night of the fire.

With the easy part out of the way he had to track down Shamir and Gilbert. Finding Shamir was hard when she didn’t want to be found. She was paint on the wall when she wanted to be. But since she didn’t know she was about to get dragged into a mission it didn’t take long to find her at the Dining Hall. Not eating, but simply standing off to the side, next to one of the knee-to-ceiling windows.

“Shamir.” Dark green jacket two small for her that didn’t even cover the leather corset she had going on. Dark leather pants, thick boots, gloves and hands always ready to grab a bow and arrow and plant it in a target.

“Jeralt,” she said. Her deep purple eyes never dropping their vigilance from the rest of the room. “Need something?”

“Lady Rhea’s got a mission for us to Liecster.”

“Does she?” Shamir straightened herself further. “When do we leave?”

“Whenever the preparations are done.”

“What’s the threat assessment?”

“Monster attacks, maybe an Almyran attack. Or desperate Dagdans.” Not the most delicate mention of things.

“I see.” She nodded along. “Haven’t heard anything big myself but I’ll keep an ear out.”

Jeralt crossed his arms. “You’re taking this well.”

“Should I not?” Shamir crossed her arms as well.

“Just pointing it out.”

“I know the Church of Seiros is big into revenge but I’m not. That just gets in the way of the contract.”

“You’re the most unorthodox knight here, that’s for certain.”

“You’re not exactly typical yourself,” she said. “You may not hear it yourself but you always have this pause before you say ‘Lady’ Rhea.”

Did he? “Well, if you say so.”

“You do.” A slice of a smirk accompanied her words. “Probably why you went and fought in the Dagda and Brigid War yourself.”

Wasn’t a surprise she knew about that, even if he never brought it up with her directly before. “Couldn’t help it, I guess.” He shrugged. “Did my work. Got my mercy. Honestly when I learned Rhea had let a Dagdan into the knights I was more shocked than when she forgave me.”

“And I was more surprised she let you back in. Rhea isn’t one to forgive slights on her goddess. Unless it was intentional all along.”

She was sharp like few else. “I just trusted in the goddess’s mercy.”

“I suppose we both did.”

The two shared a chuckle. “Well, this conversation can continue later. Or not. I’ve got to begin my preparations.”

Jeralt excused himself and went out to find Gilbert, who was resting over in the Knight’s Hall on the eastern side of the monastery. The man sat alone, next to the fireplace. Whatever he was feeling inside as he stared into the fire didn’t play out on his face as Jeralt spoke up. “Ah, Sir Jeralt, what can I do for you?”

A few more strands of grey breaking through that fiery orange hair pulled back into a thin tail. A tabard of dull grey covering his whole frame and the thick armor underneath. A sash of orange hanging loosely shoulder to shoulder with the Crest of Seiros situated right below his neck.

“Lady Rhea’s assigned you to accompany me eastwards, to the Alliance.”

“I will prepare myself accordingly.” He rose, standing tall as ever.

“We’ll be preparing a route for Lady Rhea to take later. So it’s going to be pretty important.”

“Then I will do my utmost. Fódlan can ill afford to lose Lady Rhea, now more than ever.”

It really wasn’t his place to ask, or accuse. “We can count on you for this, right?”

“I know the burden of sin weighs heavily upon me, but this is my atonement. I will do everything in my power to ensure it comes to pass.”

That was all well and good but… “Not the best time to ask this. But what happens when your prince does come calling?”

“I can only hope he does not disturb my exile. This is what I deserve.”

The man was so morose it was impossible to speak with him sometimes. “Well, I’ll hold you to that.” And Jeralt left the man once known as Gustave Dominic alone. Alone in the misery of fleeing his prince and Kingdom.

Over the next few days the Broken Blade were set up with top quality weapons and Jeralt set up the travel route for the Broken Blade and the archbishop. There were some oddities in Rhea’s prefered route to consider. A few out-of-the-way towns and villages. Normally they would head towards well-provisioned towns and cities, taking major roads. But Rhea was intending to hit small villages, out-of-the-way towns using backroads. There must have been something deeper at play, maybe some subterfuge, but why endanger Rhea like that then?

She wouldn’t answer when he brought it up. Just assured him the commoners needed to see the archbishop and hear the voice of the goddess now and then.

Still, it made planning the route difficult.

But he managed. Their plan was tight and their supplies brimming. Jeralt beat Byleth to putting flowers on Marigold’s grave again and the Broken Blade headed out east.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt and the Broken Blade stop in a village being harassed by bandits.

**Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1178**

“So, Gilbert, is this your first time in the Alliance?”

“No. I’ve been here a handful of times before.”

There wasn’t much else to do on their march east but converse. No bandit group was gonna attack a group this big and heavily armed. Shamir hadn’t much to say.

“Before you joined the Knights?”

The older knight nodded. “Indeed. Mostly for security. I was never much one for diplomacy, even if I learned it as part of my upbringing.”

“You have any opinion on the Alliance?”

“None particularly. What about you, Sir Jeralt?”

“I’ve heard the Roundtable lords can be pretty cutthroat but what noble isn’t?”

“There are many good men among the nobility. Even if so many have rotted to the core in violation of the tenants.”

This was sounding like a nerve best left untouched. “Well, Holst is supposed to be pretty fair and even-handed so we shouldn’t have any difficulty with him.” Count Gloucester on the other hand...

“Oh? Were you not part of the Knights during General Goneril’s attendance of the academy?”

He’d taken a leave to be with Marigold around that time. “I was busy with personal affairs.”

“Ah, then I will not pry.”

“I will.” Alois threw himself into the conversation. “That was around the time you and the missus were tying the knot, wasn’t it?”

Jeralt shot him a nasty glare which Alois just grinned off. “Yeah.”

“You and she were just perfect together! I have no idea why you’re always so secretive about her. Heck, you didn’t even want to tell me.”

Too much Rhea in the story to come clean. “I just wanted to respect our privacy together.”

“I would have loved to have the two of you over for dinner.” And there he went making up his own scenario again. “Oh how lovely that would have been.” Jeralt just shook his head. There was no stopping him on these sort of rants. “Why, we should bring your family over too, Gilbert!”

“Have you perchance confused me with someone else?” the man’s tone took a grim countenance and a stern glare accompanied it.

“No. I see you writing letters to them all the time.”

Alois sneaking up on someone wasn’t something that happened. Ever. Gustave must have been deeply absorbed in whatever he was writing to not notice him.

“Then I will write in it.” That glare didn’t drop, even if the tone softened.

“Wonderful!”

The conversation mostly died down after that and Jeralt didn’t bother to reignite the fire burning within Gilbert.

\---

The village was about the same in size and construction as any other village he’d passed in his long life. Wooden buildings, a scattered and random assortment of locations and sizes with every building unique in some fashion. All centered around a square of larger, older structures. The man difference was a lack of animal pens. Only a few farms had them. None with actual animals in them. Even the farmland seemed empty, thought not desolate. There were a few large lodges that Jeralt recalled as a hunter’s residence. But the racks of hunter’s prey were empty.

Something had struck this village. He attuned his eyes further to the sight. The telltale marks of battle damage. A broken hinge here, scorch marks there and replacement boards for smashed walls. No one was out. Everyone was eyeing them behind shuttered windows. They’d been the victim of a bandit attack. And quite recently, it seemed.

Jeralt dismounted at the village hall and gave a swift knock on the door. “We’re no bandits,” he added on, even if it would be obvious.

A man peered through one of the dirty windows. “What do ya want?” his words loud even through the cloth.

“Shelter, for the night. That’s all.”

“We aren’t puttin’ up wit’ another one of ‘His Lordship’s’ dunderheads!”

“We’re not with… His Lordship.” This was Glouscter territory, but that didn’t mean he was the direct ruling lord of this place. “We’re with the Holy Church of Seiros.” Where being a noble closed doors—the village hall opened—the church could open them.

Jeralt stepped inside the building. A mixture of candlelight and natural light contrasting his eyesight. The inside was much the same as the outside. A scattering of benches and tables with most of them damaged in some way. A pile of scrap wood sitting in a corner. No real fineries to be seen. Just a few people of various ages.

“Forgive the rudeness,” the man said. A bushy mustache punctuating each word. “Every man Count Gloucester’s sent us has taken our food, drink and coin then done nothing.” Man was a few months away from being skin and bones.

“Pretty bold of them to take work then default on it.”

“Not’in my intent, sir. They either get feathered by the poachers or find nothing and head home head held high.”

“It’s poachers, not bandits that are doing this?”

“‘Bout half the time.” he nodded. “Other half is dem who’s been hired to take care of them. Mercenaries or soldiers. Neither much care for the folk like us.”

Couldn’t bring Rhea through here then. “We can share our rations, if your people are hungry.” They had enough to spare.

“Thank ya kindly, m’lord.” The man bowed deeply. “But anything ya give us will just get a target put on our backs.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why haven’t you left then? They can’t have the numbers to stop you.”

“Leave our home?!” The man stomped his food. “I’d sooner suckle the count’s favorite cow than let some poacher who couldn’t handle it as a real hunter force me outta me home!”

That sure was some imagery. “Right…” It wasn’t their mission but... “Well, if we take care of this for you, would you consider… Well, no, we’ll take care of it free of charge and still pay for room and board.” These folks needed more everything than the Broken Blade did.

The man bowed his head three times. “Mighty kind of ya sir, but whatcha be thinking you have more luck than the rest o’ the men sent before ye?”

“I’ve hunted down Brigid attack parties during the war. A few poachers aren’t gonna put up much fight compared to them.”

“Brigid boys don’t know the woods like these poachers do. They’re been ruinin’ our hunts fer years. You go blunderin’ into der poachin’ grounds you be comin’ back a corpse.”

_ Years _ ? Not months? What was Count Gloucester doing? The man wasn’t even close to inept enough to let something like this go unanswered, if only to protect his reputation alone. “I’ve got some woodsmen in my employ. Should be enough to drag them into a proper fight.” Enough physicians to make sure any injuries they take could be handled.

“Appreciate the concern my fine fellow. But I ain’t askin’ ya to go doin’ somethin’ so dangerous fer no gain.”

“Nonsense. We’d shame the Knights of Seiros if we just left you in need. If you’re concerned about what we get out of this, then it will improve relations with the Alliance.” Relations were good, but they could always be better. Especially if the war between the Kingdom and Empire ever broke out.

The man rubbed his chin, looking for a way to get out. “Doesn’t do my heart good lettin’ fine folks like you out to get hurt.”

“And leaving you to deal with these poachers doesn’t sit right with me, either.”

The man expelled a breath. “Fine, fine. Lemme talk it over wit’ the fellas. If they agree we’ll tell you what we know.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s what I should be doing.” The man gave a crooked grin. “Round in, boys!” he shouted. “We got something to discuss.”

Not wanting to influence things, Jeralt headed back outside. Half the Broken Blade had dismounted to give their rears a rest and a few villagers were tepidly coming out and chatting. Some were even inspecting the horses. One in particular was inspecting his horse.

Jeralt walked up to the girl. A messy bundle of eiry orange hair sitting on her head. Not too unlike Gilbert, comparing them. “He’s a fine stallion,” he said.

“Oh, he’s yours? He looks big and strong. I thought. We-we don’t have horses anymore.”

“Well, that’ll change soon enough.”

“Another group come to take care of the poachers, huh?” A half-faded smile dropping on her lips. She’d already resigned herself to their failure.

“We’re pretty good at this kind of thing.”

“That’s what they all say.”

How many groups had they gone through, throughout the years? “I look forward to seeing you think otherwise.”

“So would I,” she admitted. “I just learned not to get my hopes up.”

“You’re pretty down for a kid your age.” Younger than Byleth, younger than students. Maybe a few years out from going to the academy if a country kid could make it.

“They called me kid too. But I’m the one still standing and dragging their bodies out of the forest when they get stuck.”

“They left their own men behind?” What incompetence had been hired here?

“Mostly. Sometimes the poachers leave them as warnings instead.”

If they were leaving corpses as messages the people here were really crazy to stay. “That’s pretty grisly.”

“I’m used to it. Even before they showed up I was out hunting with my dad. I learned to handle death real quick being a hunter.”

She had some muscle and a new look at her hands showed the calluses attributed to both bow and lance. “Yeah, you look pretty good with spear and bow.”

“Whoa, yeah, how’d you know? Most visitors just laugh me off.” She looked around, maybe thinking she’d left something obvious.

“Your hands.”

“Huh?” She looked at them to some confusion. “You can tell just by my hands?”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know how hands look when they hold a tool.” He removed his glove and showed her his own. Harder by a thousand times but the toughened skin was in similar spots. “I’ve dealt with men twice as hard as some poachers.” He returned his glove.

“Maybe you will win but…” she grimaced a bit at the idea. “You don’t know the woods like them.”

“That’s what the old guy said.”

“Yeah, my dad and I have been trying to find’em for years.”

He probably should have realised that. Not many people had hair that fiery. “Any luck?”

“Wow, you’re actually asking. You’re the first group that actually cared enough to do that.”

Good grief what incompetents were sent here? “Not a compliment I’d want but you know where they’re striking from?”

“Yeah, there’s this ridge about two hours’ trek north. Gives’em enough of a spot to see anyone in big clankin’ armor comin’. Or hear it. So they either run or take’em out. Been happening for years and each time the hirelings reject our help and take our money. Yet our great noble lord still taxes us like we’re sitting on thrones of gold.” Her orange eyes rolled so hard it must have been painful.

“Then if we team up we can take them by surprise and finally put an end to this.”

“Wow, never thought I’d hear those words. You tell those to my dad?”

“I will if he wants our help.”

“I’m sure he will with that attitude.” She had a smile and her fists were clenched tight in anticipation. “Oh, I should probably introduce myself, huh? My name’s Leonie Pinelli.”

A hundred years and his manners were still crooked. “Jeralt.”

“I hope we can finally take out those lousy poachers together, Jeralt.”

Suddenly into town rode thirty-forty-fifty more horsemen. All armored heavily and packs full with supplies. From their middle rode a man brimming with swagger and confidence and highborn taste.

“Have no fear, people of Sauin Village. I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, have come to rid you of those unfortunate bandits.”

Well, that timing sure was incredible.

—-

Count Gloucester’s son was a pompous git like few Jeralt had ever seen. Every word was placating the people with “noble’s duty” his heritage and constant reassurances that he wouldn’t rest until the poacher problem had been solved once and for all. He dismissed entirely the concerns of the villagers, all their words of warning and downplayed any desire they had to help. It was frustrating to watch, but Jeralt knew he’d get his own turn so just stayed aside until the villagers just gave up in sheer frustration at the bloody-minded foolishness of the lord’s son.

“So, you are the latest band of men come to rid these woods of their unfortunate circumstances?” Purple hair in a bowl cut, a face sharply downwards like a lance point. Purple eyes that spent every moment looking down at everyone around him. A slim figure bulked somewhat by a set of armor that had never seen so much as a scuff. His finger cradling a red rose upon his breast at all times.

This was not going to be pleasant at all. “I am, yes.”

“Your altruism is greatly appreciated. However, my troop shall take over caring for the safety of Sauin Village. You may continue on your way at your own convenience.”

“I hate to break it to you kid, but a big group like this isn’t gonna be able to take care of these poachers.”

“Mind your tongue, knave!” one of the cavaliers escorting the boy proclaimed.

“Please, Alfred, this is not a formal sitting. This man may voice his concerns, no matter how lax his mannerisms.”

Patronizing punk. “The poachers have high ground and a wide view. They’ll see you coming if they don’t hear you. You aren’t gonna get a decent fight out of them charging in like a noble knight.”

“Scattering them without incident would be quite the beneficial act.”

He had half a good idea, at least. “And when they come back?”

“We shall be garrisoning this village for quite some time. Should they return they will know the full fury of our lances.”

“Then they’ll be harassing some other village.”

“Where we will ride to and scatter them for sure!” His men gave some cheers to that.

“Sure. But why put someone else in danger when you can take them out now?”

“You have a fair point. What is it you suggest?”

He was actually listening? Or just indulging his “lesser?” Either way… “The villagers know where the poachers have laid up. If we work together with them, we can sneak around and take care of these bandits for good.”

“Sneak? Like a common thief? I think not!”

“Well, we’ll be doing the sneaking…”

“Who does this act is without concern. Such a scheme is unbecoming of the nobility and beneath common decency.”

This kid was gonna get a harsh lesson when he needed to use things “beneath him”.

“This is why I don’t like nobles,” Leonie said, her face scrunched together at the whole affair. “You’d rather they get away just so you can prance all fancy?”

“How we conduct ourselves when dealing with the most deplorable of people is just as important. More so, even. Though your tactics may be effective what message does it send to others of their ilk? We will crawl and debase ourselves just to rout you? Preposterous!”

“What kind of message are you sending letting them get away?”

“Daughter, hush…” her father tried to placate her. She got too uppity the boy would want her head.

“Such a lack of grace is common to the commons,” the boy said, one twitch away from an outburst. “Someone who has learned nothing of combat’s graces should not speak as an expert.”

Time to deal with this. “Don’t give me that act.” Jeralt crossed his arms. “You haven’t gone to the Officers Academy yourself. She’s as much a tactical adept as you are.”

“Whether I have graced that splendid hall or not is not the point. Since birth I have been trained and fed and bred for such a thing. It is my very destiny itself.”

“But you don’t have any practical experience.”

The noble bit back a bark. “One must always start somewhere.”

Jeralt strode forward. “Then this is the first lesson I would have taught at the academy. Listen to people who know better than you.”

“Who exactly do you think you are?”

“Jeralt Eisner, nice to meet you.”

“The Blade Breaker?!” Every one of the troop came about in shock. “Why did you not introduce yourself sooner?” He was nearly fawning now.

“Errr, is he really that big a deal?” asked Leonie.   
  


“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, he is,” said Lorenz. “Leader after leader of Fódlan learned combat from him—my father included. Captain of the Knights of Seiros. The strongest knight to ever live. He who could vanquish a Demonic Beast in a single strike!” This was really embarrassing. “If I’d known we had a legend before us I would have improved my manners.”

“I don’t like to brag and making sure people don’t know who I am lets me get a better read on them.”

The words caused a nervous chuckle to come from Lorenz. “Yes, well, I do hope I’ve made some positive impression at least.”

“We’ll talk more when you’re at the Officers Academy. But right now? No. I’m not impressed.”

“I take it my conversation with this young woman proved inadequate? Should I have instead listened to people unfamiliar with the full rigors of combat instead? I think not.” He puffed his chest out to reclaim some control of the situation.

“Dismissing people out of hand is what I have a problem with. Her, me. You never even asked your own knights their opinions and I much doubt the count would let you ride off with some newly knighted… knights.” There had to be a better way to end it, but screw it.

“It is the duty of the noblemen to lead.”

“How do you intend to lead if you don’t listen?”

“That is…” The boy plunged himself deep in thought. “Yes, I agree that your side has quite the weight to it. However, listening to the opinions of all who beseech me for a moment of my time would soon leave us little daylight to act. One must consult only those most learned.”

“And these people are most learned in the forestry. So, listen. to. them.”

The boy too small for his high horse looked throughout all the villagers half gathered around. “Oh, very well. Girl, if you would?”

“If you would use my name,” Leonie needled him.

“Yes, how very rude of me. I have already introduced myself but it would be rude to not give my name before asking another. I am Lorenz Hellman Glouscter. May I have the honor of knowing yours?”

“Leonie.”

“Hello, Leonie. Now, as Sir Jeralt has so kindly instructed me, how would you go driving these bandits out of your hunting lands?”

“Like he said, just send a group up and around. We know these woods, we know where they keep their camp and we know how to get up there unseen.”

“Yet you’ve been unable to take such a matter into your own hands.”

She frowned because she knew he had a point. “We’re hunters. Of animals, not people.”

“That is an admirable candace, however you just suggested you’d accompany Sir Jeralt, correct?” She gave a begrudging nod. “How certain are you your hands will not hesitate when it comes to drawing a bowstring against another human being?”

“I could ask the same of you!”

“I have lived seventeen years preparing for this very moment. Every muscle in my shapely body, every combed hair on my head: finely crafted for war.”

Jeralt put a hand on the girl’s shoulder to back her up. “She or her father may hesitate, but we don’t.”

“Certainly not. Yet both sides of this arrangement miss a vital component. Even sharing in the burden would not compensate, not fully.”

“It’s a better idea than a frontal charge.”

“Is it?” Byleth popped up after a lifetime of quiet. “If they run from a frontal charge, Leonie will know where they’re running to.”

“And where we can plant an ambush instead,” said Jeralt. “Yeah, they’ll have to leave in a rush, be careless.”

Lorenz wanted nothing to do with a good idea however. His jaw had gone slack at the prospect. “Now you speak of using us as a distraction?”

“If it works it works.”

“Such a scheme is beneath the nobility.”

“You get your frontal charge, we get the work done. The bandits are done it. That’s best for the lot of us.” Jeralt crossed his arms. “Now, you can go do this on your own, but does it sound like you’re being appreciated for ignoring their opinions?”

One of the Glouscter knights whispered to their little lordling. “Hmph, very well. Though your tactics lack the grace of nobility they will no doubt be effective.”

Least he wasn’t an entirely useless pompous git. “Then let's get down to business.”

Leonie and her father (Arthur) helped draw out the surrounding location and the spot the poachers had laid up. This was their land, they’d been hunting on it for generations. They knew every fallen tree, little hole and the sneaky back path to the ridge the poachers had set up. It was a thin cave, only a single man’s width through the hill they’d perched on. But the time it’d take to circumvent the entire hill with horses would have easily let them escape. And the incline up was steep and poked with holes. All overlooking a nice big clearing so even foot soldiers couldn’t get in without notice. It would be a difficult spot to hit. Byleth’s ambush was easily their best bet.

Hashing out the plan was simple. One of the hunters would lead Lorenz and his battalion through the clearing. This would scare the poachers into fleeing through the cave. After about half were through on the other side the Broken Blade would ambush them. With their forces cut in half they’d be simple to restrain.

The noble protested the indignity of it and tried to counter argue to an obnoxious degree but Jeralt just threw his full weight behind the plan and that was that. Still, he made sure some of the Blade were on watch so the brat didn’t try anything on his own. A fear that found no purchase.

* * *

The next day the two groups set out to enact their part of the plan. The shiny armor of the Glouscter knights practically blinding compared to the minimal battleworn armor of the Broken Blade. That presence would be an incredible boon for the assault.

Only a handful-and-a-half of Broken Blade were going on this. More than enough for mere bandits. All the heavy troops left behind, like Gilbert. Couldn’t do work with all that noise.

Didn’t stop people from whispering though.

He was surprised it was Shamir though. “I have to admit the way you handled the noble kid was pretty good.”

“You just gotta know how to use’em right.”

“Is that so?” she smirked. “Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two this way.” Without another word she walked off. What a confusing woman.

It was then Leonie’s turn to lean in and whisper. “Hey, I just want to say thanks, you know? Coming in here, taking on your problems and making sure ‘his lordship’ doesn’t mess it all up.”

There was still time for the latter. “You’re welcome.”

“I mean, everyone hears about the Knights of Seiros and the goddess doing all her work and that. Just, never thought I’d get to see it in action myself.”

“Well, we’re really doing it for ourselves.”

“That’s true. You helped for yourself, but the goddess sent you to us in the first place.”

“More-or-less.”

“I hope I get to go to Garreg Mach one day,” she said. “Give a big prayer to the goddess for sending you today.”

Kid would half get her wish in a few days. “Let’s concentrate on getting through this next fight.” Even if it wouldn’t be much of one.

“Right.” Her eyes went wide at something. “Do you hear that?” She looked up at the sky, trying to discern something through the canopy. “Birds. Something’s spooked’em good.”

Most birds got spooked if you went anywhere close. “You think Lorenz’s group did something stupid?”

“Yeah. Those aren’t the type of bird to get scared just by some people walking. They must be making a lot of noise.”

Ahhh dammit. They were still ten minutes outside their position. He’d smack the brat for that stupidity. “Full speed people.” The Broken Blade went from stealthy slow march to hasty run as they followed Leonie and the other hunters through the woods. The hill peaking through on their right as they circled north.

There was no time to plant and ambush as the poachers were already fully through the pass. Their bows came up and they loosed their arrows. Fire and arrow flew back and the Broken Blade charged into melee. Slower than they should have. Should have never needed in the first place.

The poachers weren’t a threat against such veterans of war up close but a lucky arrow took Dolph in the neck. Byleth couldn’t save him.

The five poachers that survived the first engagement surrendered right after that. Jeralt was good and ready to slug the prat for wasting the plan. The return back to Sauin was miserable and quiet; where Lorenz and his cavaliers waited atop their horses. Their armor now scuffed by the travel in the forest.

“My word!” the noble boy said. “Attend to them at once!” The knights lowered themselves and ran forward with bandages and ointments for the scraps and bruises not taken care of beforehand.

“What happened?” Jeralt flatly demanded.

“We encountered a detachment of the bandits earlier than anticipated,” his tone was forcibly kept even. “We dispatched them in all due haste and hurried forward on the idea our clash would resonate with their compatriots above. By the time we reached their camping ground, it had been cleared entirely.”

A scouting party? Pretty opposite everything he’d been told and completely nonsensical on its own. If a scouting party see either group arrive yesterday the bandits would have left yesterday. The boy had his eyes set and back straight. Doing his best to give composure, even in light of what had to be the first death he’d ever seen.

“That’s a lie!” Leonie shouted out. “All the years the poachers have been here they haven’t used scouts once!”

“I assure you,” his voice straining, “there were them.”

“Then where’s the bodies, huh?”

“Being disposed of by our rear guard.”

“A likely story!”

“For what purpose would I have to lie? If I wanted no part of your ambush I would have struck out on my own regardless. Your accusations are baseless and crass and do a disservice to the man who died.”

“Don’t act like you care! We’ve had these poachers for years and you and your dear old dad haven’t done a thing about them!”

“How dare you?!” The man was more shocked by that than the actual fight. “We have sent mercenary after soldier here to handle this problem. I have come to see it through personally. To accuse me of a lack of care is absurd!”

“A bunch of idiots who don’t know there way around these woods is your example of caring?” Leonie stomped the ground. “All you nobles are alike.” Her father tried to stop her but she just brushed him off. “You take and you take and expect us to be happy with scrapes.”

“No one should be receiving scrapes in the first place!” He had that point in his favor, at least. “On its very way is a relief convoy filled with enough food to last your village through the winter.”

“Oh, thank you, mister kind noble. Making us pay for this food then making us pay taxes right after.”

“Do not be absurd. What use is there in taxing a village on the verge of poverty? Such a thing is abominable and utterly ignoble.”

“Then why have your tax collectors come through when your soldiers cannot, huh?”

“That’s more a question for the tax advisory than myself, but I believe a partial refund is included within the convoy.”

“Errr… really?”

Jeralt was in just as much disbelief as the actual villagers. He could count on one hand the amount of times a noble actually returned money to the peasants.

“Why of course,” the boy attempted to smooth his voice over. “Continuing to collect taxes on a village unable to pay them would damage the local economy even further. Ensuring everyone has a stable base by which to grow and prosper with is the duty of a noble.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Two days later they saw it. It was more money than the Broken Blade actually had in their traveling expenses and enough food for just beyond the winter. Leonie avoided Lorenz the entire rest of the time the Broken Blade were in town. The boy went about making sure things were probably distributed and clarified before riding back to his father with some idea about reforming the tax system. 

What an unusual noble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been brought up elsewhere that Lorenz was attending the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad during this timeframe. I just wanted to clear up that I did intend for that to be different from the start. it's just not something Lorenz would bring up in this situation.


	14. Chapter 14

**Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1178**

Jeralt had to insist on staying a few days extra days to make sure the people of Sauin were nice and settled in. The Broken Blade were used to providing aid like this by now, but a few of the other knights were slightly hesitant. Shamir didn’t have much interest in ensuring everyone’s homes were patched but. Though Gilbert did. Man had quite the skill in woodwork it seemed.

“Going around playing carpenter isn’t exactly in the knights skillset, now is it?” Shamir came up to him at the end of the week. “We’re wasting too much time here.”

“We’ll just cut our visit with Count Gloucester short.” Which would be welcome after dealing with his son. “Besides, it’s in the tenants somewhere to help out your fellow man.”

“Most of what I’ve seen is retribution and punishment.”

“Eh, don’t abuse your power is in there somewhere.”

“For being the captain you’re not that learned in the church’s teachings.”

“Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“Something close to it.” Shamir glanced down the street. “That Leonie girl seems more faithful than you are and she’s been stuck here her whole life.”

“Belief in the goddess is sometimes the only thing commoners have. More than faith in the nobility at any rate.”

Shamir had a slight smirk as a response. “You think that noble brat wouldn’t have sufficed for a few bandits.”

Jeralt just shrugged. “No use thinking about what didn’t happen.” He’d smacked himself with guilt over not leaving plenty enough. “How’d you learn she’s so faithful, anyway?” Shamir wasn’t exactly the most social.

“She wanted me to show her some shooting techniques, thanked the goddess under her breath every time she hit. She’s actually pretty good. Not a surprise considering she’s a hunter’s daughter. I’m surprised she hasn’t come up to ask you.”

“She has. She wanted some lance tips too. Think I’d thrown in a few horse-riding lessons too.”

“Teaching a commoner-girl a noble’s thing, eh? You really aren’t typical. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that’s how your son turned out.”

_ What’s that supposed to me? _ “That sounded insulting.”

“It wasn’t, trust me.” Her smile was too genuine to be a lie. But something about it still sat off. “I’ve got business elsewhere. It’s been interesting chatting with you, Jeralt.”

“You too, Shamir.”

Jeralt finished his haul and headed over to the old animal pens the Broken Blade were using as stables for their mounts. The overgrown grass had been pulled up free and the ramshackle outbuildings had gotten new boards, doors and stalls. It was also where leonie, and Byleth too, were waiting.

They were already engaged in some conversation. Leonie had her back to him, while Byleth gave no indication he saw his father arriving.

“So, if you could give me a few pointers on how to ask him I’d be really grateful,” said Leonie.

“He won’t say no if you ask outright,” answered Byleth.

Sounded like this was about him. “After all you guys have done for us, I don’t want to seem ungrateful by asking for more.”

“He likes drinking.”

“I got that after seeing themarks in the town hall.” They wanted to see the ax trick. “But ugh, I can’t get my hands on alcohol. Or anything fancy like weapons or armor or books. Oh, does he like any cuts of meat? I’m a pretty good cook.”

“We don’t usually eat together.” Byleth looked past her. “Is there anything you like.”

“Oh no.”

Leonie turned around with all the red-faced embarrassment of a kid having a parent overhear talks about a secret birthday present. “Ha-ha, that was just… a joke.”

“Rule one of any lessons I give. Be aware of your surroundings.” He gave her a smile. “Rule two: I like beast meat teppanyaki.”

“Me too!” That embarrassment forced away by common ground. “Noa fruit’s so expensive though.”

“We have a few in our bags. I’ll loan it to you.”

“I can’t keep taking things from you.”

“Really you’re just giving it back.”

“Still doesn’t feel like I’m paying my fair share.”

Jerlat shook his head. “You can worry about paying your fair share when you have a fair share.”

“Wish I was that optimistic about my future.”

“Hey, you stood up to your territorial lord’s son in a way most commoners would faint from. You keep up that level of determination and I could see you at the Officers Academy in two or so years.”

Leonie sighed with a bitter laugh. “Even with all that tax money coming back we wouldn’t be able to afford something like that. Unless the whole village pitched in or something and I can’t ask them about that.”

Jeralt had the clout to give her a referral if she really wanted it. But that would just mark her as a target of favoritism. That hurt Byleth enough. Someone even worse off would be hurt even worse. “Well, we’ll be waiting if you ever do make it.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get that lucky.”

“Lucky enough for us to come by.”

She suddenly had a look as if she was seeing for the first time. “You know, you’re right. The goddess sent you to help us, so maybe one day she’ll help me again.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, I think you were planning on asking me something?”

Over the next few days Jeralt helped the girl along with some rudimentary training. She had a good handle on lances, a killer aim with the bow and took to a horse real well. Even a few little basics on magic she grasped. She was a natural at anything she tried. A lot better than most nobles he’d met over his life.

She was even as good a cook as she said. Sure, she had Byleth helping her in the kitchen, but his tongue could tell his son’s cooking apart from anyone else’s these days. What she delivered was certainly her own blend of spices, and tasty all the same.

She looked pretty happy when he gave her praise for it.

Another week and the village was looking much better. Even as their timetable looked much worse. It was finally time to leave. The Broken Blade gathered up. Plenty of waves, plenty of good-byes and plenty of tears. And not all of the last from the villagers.

  
  


**Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1178**

None the rest of their trip was remotely as eventful as the time spent in Sauin village. A few rough encounters along the way but nothing beyond a few bruises. Even the time spent with Count Gloucester wasn’t difficult. Mostly because the man refused to see him, citing illness and other, more pressing government concerns. Not like Jeralt wanted to deal with him anyway so he let it slide and they continued east. Because of that, they made good time to Fódlan’s Locket, the Alliance army in charge of defense welcoming them with open arms.

Fódlan’s Locket was a fortress far beyond what its delicate name indicated. The walls were thick, with enough arrow slits that every single knight of Seiros with them could have manned a bow and still not filled them all. The ramparts were roofed and wide. The ballistas were huge enough to kill a wyvern in a single shot and covered half the field afar. Three drawbridges connected the mighty fortress to the land on the east over deep chasms. The greenery on the opposite shore had signs of being cleared away, scorched in some spots, but the endurance of nature always won out.

Was it brave of the Almyrans to fight against a fortress this strong? or foolish? The few he’d met over his life hadn’t been any sort of monstrous scourge this fortress was designed to defend against. But they weren’t here for musing on the nature of diplomacy. They were here for an inspection. Had to make sure the church’s finances were going to a good cause, after all. Even if the majority of the fortress’s maintenance was maintained by the Alliance the other nations were pact-bound to help provide financial aid.

All in all, it seemed on the level. The barracks was large and well-furnished. The armory was filled with top quality armaments. The blacksmiths were cooperating and forging new equipment all the time. The local farmers were providing their fair share of crops and then some. The men and women of local settlements receiving militia training in case any Almyran raiding party somehow snuck around the Locket entirely.

He’d rarely seen a place so finely honed and beyond reproach.

“They’re hiding something,” Shamir said to him at one point. “Anyplace this clean has the dirtiest secrets.”

He agreed, but Jeralt just couldn’t figure out what. The soldiers were all courteous and answered the questions promptly and accurately. The servants were mild-mannered and kept it well well. The commanders wouldn’t gossip even when drunk. Whatever they were hiding, they were adept at keeping it.

He sent off a message to Garreg Mach about the situation and just waited. There wasn’t much else beyond some light inspections or making sure the Broken Blade were kept in fighting trim. Things were so peaceful it was almost boring. Even the patrols reported that there wasn’t a single sign of Almyra in the Throat.

Which made him just as suspicious as the Locket being too clean. It was the kind of gut feeling that had saved his life a dozen times.

He was about to send a request to General Goneril when the man summoned him first.

He didn’t keep the man waiting.

General Holst Patrick Goneril was broad-chested, strong-jawed with a big smile that never seemed to leave his lips nor did his hands ever seem to leave his hips. His pink hair was pulled back with a tie and thin but groomed beard graced his cheeks. His deep pink eyes settled on him when he entered. “Jeralt, my good man, glad of you to join us.” His voice had a natural weight to it.

“I presume you’re thinking the Almyrans are planning an attack like I am.”

“Right indeed.” He responded with a booming laugh. “We’re right on the cusp of winter—best time for them to attack.”

There were a dozen others in the chairs surrounding the high table in the middle. “Sir,” one of them said, “attacking before winter is foolhardy. Even if they stole the Locket they would have no ability to transfer supplies through the Throat.” He’d never been, but traveling Fódlan’s Throat during winter was one of the most dangerous things to do in life.

“Exactly what they want you to think.” He gripped the edge of the table. “Militia will be home for the harvest and making sure they have stockpiles for winter. Everyone here will be nice and content, let their guard down. Patrols will get lazy until one day—” he slammed the table “—Nader is right there with an army without anyone seeing him!”

“Even if our patrols grow complacent,” another said, “we’ll still have enough warning.”

“To say nothing of them still having no supplies,” said a third.

“How thin do you think our stocks are for winter?” Goneril shook his head. “I’ll remind you we have enough food here to ensure everyone is fed solely on the unlikely basis all the roads are snowed in and we can’t receive outside trade. If Nader can take the Locket he’ll be sitting easy until the snow melts and he can get the supplies he’s stockpiled through the Throat.”

“That seems awfully presumptuous, sir,” the third said.

“Even should he overtake Fódlan’s Locket,” a fourth chimed in, “the fortress is designed facing towards Almyra. We would have no trouble retaking it from Alliance-side.”

“Retaking rubble you mean?” Goneril nodded. “If he sees his position as untenable he’ll sack what he can and withdraw. We’d have half a fort to face a man who’d taken it at full.”

“This seems… worst case scenario, sir.”

Goneril leaned in. “Indeed it does, gentleman. That’s why we ensure it doesn’t come to pass. I want a scouting team going deep into Almyra’s side of the Throat. Today.”

“Is this why my patrols were given leave, sir?” a fifth asked.

“Correct, Guther.”

Guther buried his head in his hands. “I’ll make sure Jakob is aware of his mission then.”

“Good man.” Goneril looked back at Jeralt silently watching. “Now, Jeralt, you up for an adventure of your own?”

“I may be a bit restless, but riding around in mountain passes I’m unfamiliar with isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“A shame. But I’ll respect your decision then. You might want to tell the archbishop of this crisis.”

Was he exaggerating it to stop the inspection? No, the man was too serious for that. “I will.”

“Good, good.”

The rest of the meeting turned to debating the status of the defenses so Jeralt took the moment to excuse himself and go inform the Broken Blade of the slight chance of an attack. They were out in the courtyard on the frontier of the fortress, some light drills paired with the Alliance soldiers on duty. Since they were busy he changed to sending out a new message to Rhea. She would be just about entering Goneril territory, if he had his travel itinerary correct. Informing her couldn’t really affect much but the intent was what mattered.

Back to the Broken Blade—”Almyrans off the pass! They’re coming in fast!”

There went that idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the lack of replies and the state of the chapter as it was posted. I spent most of prior week miserable because of minor circumstances and couldn't will myself to correspondence. I've since clawed my way back to decency and will reply in good time.
> 
> Likewise, if anyone spots any errors within this chapter, please let me know. Editing was not as tight as it should have been.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt and the Broken Blade fend off an Almyran attack, learn some harsh truths and finish off their visit east.

**Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1178**

“Wyverns, bow knights! En masse!” Patrols ran in from across the forward draw bridges as the soldiers off duty ran to the closest armor wrack to prepare. 

“Broken Blade, get ready.” This kind of defense was the speciality of the heavy infantry, not the mixed light and medium they’d become but every blade helped. The Blade moved into its arranged lines off to the side of the Alliance defense as they moved into their positions. The heavy infantry on the front line, the archers in their forward bunkers and the cavalry ready to charge anything that broke down or relieve any force in danger.

Goneril came stamping in with all the glee of a child on his face. “Now that’s the Nader I know.”

“You almost seem happy,” Jeralt noted.

“Do I?” He had a half-grin slapped all over his face. “I’m not, I assure you.” He withdrew Freikugal from his back. The Hero’s Relic of House Goneril. Shaft long as the man, the ax head that reminded Jeralt of some sort of flattened shell glowed red in the hands of its rightful wielder.

“First time getting to use a Relic, huh?”

“First time in a real fight. Bandits don’t do much for me with this in my hands.”

No wonder the Almyrans had been so silent before now. The transfer of a Relic into the hands of someone as capable as Goneril would even give the Empire pause. “Where do you need us?”

Goneril went over a quick assessment of the force disposition. “South, your boys are gonna be better for the terrain if we push out. Report in to Balthus. You’ll know him when you hear him.”

“There a need to attack?”

“Almyrans like to leave their wounded behind. You’ll see.”

Leaving the wounded behind on a failed assault was common, but the way Goneril spoke of it indicated more. “We’ll get moving then.”

“See you at the end.” Goneril grinned.

Jeralt relayed the marching orders and the Broken Blade headed down south. The southern bridge actually connected to a plateau in lower elevation, half the size of the central pass entirely. Maybe about five men wide by comparison. There was a thick tuft of shrubbery down in the center. Perfect for advancing under fire. Even the ballista might have difficulty shooting targets. Again Jeralt wondered why they didn’t just burn it, but not for long.

Wyverns by the hundreds flew in from the mountains in the distance. Their true numbers unreadable but more and more poured out between the crags and settled down far afield. Then finally one last, with a banner of simple green raised high above his head.

“There’s Nader,” one of the soldiers said. “He’ll be going straight for Holst like always.”

Brave or stupid? Jeralt was gonna settle on him being stupid to go against Goneril with a Hero’s Relic. That aside the guy here was a bit too casual with the general. “You must be Balthus,” said Jeralt. Broad-chested, with a broad grin and some spiky hair.

“Always wanted to go up against the Blade Breaker myself. See if you’re worth the stuff.”

“Maybe later kid.”

“I’ll make sure you eat those words.” Too much Cassandra in the kid. Though maybe he was older. Kind of hard to tell sometimes.

“Not the best of circumstances to bring this up,” said Gilbert. “But I am worried about the lack of gates on the eastern faces.”

“Tried it for a few years. Almyrans really didn’t like it. Had to let’em in to give’em a place to focus. Huddle up too hard and they try and get sneaky.”

Opening a vulnerability. Knew where your opponent was gonna strike. “Where do you need us?”

Balthus gave the Broken Blade a once over. “Archers on the walls. Big man with the heavy armor up front. Tough guys in back. Draw’em in, hit’em hard.”

Simple as ever. “Get moving people.” The Broken Blade settled into their new positions...

Then nothing. The Almyrans were either resting or bringing in more troops Jeralt couldn’t see. The sheer tension slowly eroded people. No one broke ranks, but there was a too fast head movement, or a sudden cough that would go on too long. Even after so many victories, the Almyrans still struck worry into the hearts of their opponents.

A cry like thunder erupted from the Almyran army and their wyverns took flight. Through the various broken lands in front horses aplenty charged in with infantry—highly elite mortal savants marched in careful formation. Arrows flew from both sides. The great power of the Almyran bow knights giving them range to equal the height advantage Fódlan’s Locket gave the defenders.

Though their range may have been equal, their cover was not. All over the Almyran lines the bow knights were struck whilst the stone buildings or wooden roofs of the Locket protected the defenders. It was incredibly sloppy and borderline suicidal. Not even a hint of flaming arrows to at least reduce some cover.

Jeralt kept an eye out for any sort of trick, but the Almyrans kept advancing under the constant barrage. The only tactic he could see is that the bow knights were drawing an incredible amount of missile fire, leaving the mortal savants to advance mostly unimpeded.

That didn’t change by the time they arrived at the bottom of the drawbridge. The Almyran’s archers had taken an incredible beating yet every one that fell was replaced by another. Or maybe even the same ones, if they had magical healing on their side.

Jeralt waited for a sudden attack, or anything. But the enemy infantry waited at the bottom without a care for the exchange of arrows above them. The wyverns hadn’t moved either. Maybe the rumors about Nader were over exaggerated.

Blasts of lightning flew out from the mortal savants and the chains connecting the drawbridge up were blown apart. Damn impressive considering they were buried in a lance-length of solid rock. There’d be no raising the bridge to stop this. A mighty roar accompanied their charge up the bridge as fire and lightning preceded them and arrow struck back.

The vanguard of the enemy never reached the top, as wagons loaded with black powder were pushed down the drawbridge. Explosions eradicated the forward wave, blowing chunks in the thick wood of the bridge and setting the surface aflame. But the wood was thick and no holes were made clean through to the abyss below.

Through the fire and flames the Almyrans advanced regardless. Their boots stomping out fire with whatever mad conviction marched them forth. The magical swordsmen clashed with the heavily armored soldiers guarding the front. Their greater speed and sharp blades proving themselves an equal to the tough armor and their blasts of magic completely better. Though the arrows nearby even the odds and the ballista wrecked terrible havoc in the ranks. Whoever was manning it was a damn precise shot. He saw four enemies go in one bolt.

Gilbert struggled brilliantly, keeping three enemies at bay with his mighty shield while misdirecting attacks with an ax before slamming down a finishing blow. In the fray Balthus unleashed a fury of punches that overwhelmed even the dedicated swordsmen he faced.

But despite everything the Goneril defenders were slowly losing ground. They had no back-up in magical healing save the occasional spare from Byleth and three others. The Eastern Church should have physicians on standby here and Goneril wasn’t incompetent enough to leave a flank like this that badly exposed if he had the resources. Something foul still smelt in the situation but what could wait.

The defenders slowly fell back unto the stone of the fortress and the Almyran boots soon joined them. Back further, and the Broken Blade threw themselves fully into combat. The fresh support gave breathing room for the beleaguered defense and they pushed them back unto the drawbridge. Further down, nearly to dirt. Aided by the defending archers, as the new waves of Almyrans were thick-as-targets with arrows. Yet such a focus left them vulnerable to the horse archers themselves and Jeralt saw more than a few tumble below.

But it was working for now. The Broken Blade couldn’t trade better in blow-for-blow but they could duel better and the Almyra offense faltered once the Goneril troops rejoined the melee. There were still a lot of soldiers coming in, but they could hold at this rate. Especially with the ballista tearing out huge chunks in the enemy formation.

“We have to get back,” Byleth said between kills. “Those wyverns are gonna go after the ballista.”

The flying mounts were skirting the field to the south. “Broken Blade back! Protect the ballista!” They maneuvered through the combat lines of their allies, who through themselves back into combat with renewed vigor. Vigor that couldn’t last but they held the enemy on the bridge as the Broken Blade made it back inside.

The balistician and his archers had refocused their attention on the wyvern fleet circling in. Their arrows striking down dozens amongst hundreds. Broken Blade couldn’t match that but they had to try. They were joined by a relief force of cavalry and set about as much a shield wall as they could muster when the flying beasts slammed in.

He’d fought wyverns before. Pegasus before. Horsemen before but never anything like this! Jeralt was nearly blown off his mount—one among many as the brown tide of wyvernhide tore through them. Sheer weight overpowering the defense even as everyone unleashed their fiercest to stop it.

Lance against ax. Arrow into rider. Fireball into face. Jeralt stabbed again and again as wounds piled up high from the talons, teeth and axes of the enemy. The carnage destroyed any sense of awareness. Any call for order went unheeded. Just the simple urge to fight kill and survive.

The Crest of Seiros imbued him with divine power as he killed a wyvern and rider in one blow. A second time, for another! On the third his lance splintered from overuse. He tossed aside the trash and drove his spare into a fourth. 

There! - Byleth, Alois and three others were standing ground next to the shattered ballista. His son with some bleeding cuts but his next swing closed the wound with whatever mysterious Crest power he had. Alois swung his ax with fervor and even tackled a wyvern aside with his pauldron spikes. They wouldn’t hold. Jeralt rallied everyone he could with a shout and pushed forward through flagging strength…

A volley of arrows cut through the wyverns. A second - a third with incredible precision and the sudden life-threatening melee ended as the remaining wyverns took back to the skies.

He gave silent thanks to Shamir and all the archers on the wall, only half remaining at this point. It’d saved the lives of the thirty or so still standing but the guards at the bridge had paid the price. Even less of them remained than Jeralt’s group and the Almyran numbers seemed endless. Regardless of the numbers they fought valiantly. Gilbert nearly holding the entire left side by himself and Balthus making any move against him suicidal in with his fists and ax.

A horn blew in the distance and at once all the Almyrans retreated with incredible discipline. Jeralt dragged everyone back to the battered front line. Byleth exhausting the rest of his magical reserves to ensure no one was dying just yet. In the distance the Almyran army was retreating utterly. The wyverns flying back with maybe a third their number (at best estimate). The bow knights completely gone and the other infantry leaving the wounded and dying behind. A detachment of conventional foot soldiers covered the retreat of the elites. A retreat bombarded with arrows and bolts.

“Make ready to charge!” Balthus wailed.

Jeralt affixed him a hard glare. “Your group isn’t making it back up that hill if you go down.”

“The Almyran reserves aren’t like Fódlan armies. These are barely trained, poorly equipped conscripts. One of us for twenty of them easy.”

They were wasting their best units in an upfront battle like that? He’d never been a fan of using the less capable of your forces to exhaust the enemies troops then smash them with the elites. The entire Officers Academy was about stopping that kind of harsh thinking. Doing the exact opposite never occurred to him.

“So, if we charge, they break.” They get plenty of prisoners which means an incredible amount of ransom money. But something about it seemed off. He was missing something, but what?

“We’ll take the first wave,” the grinning soldier said. “We’re more imposing. Once we scatter them, move in and take down what you can.”

“Right.”

They took a moment to catch their breath, but the heavy infantry advanced down the battle-stained drawbridge. They kicked aside a path through the carnage and advanced with arrow cover to the enemies still lurking in the foliage below. 

They didn’t last long. The arrow fire was shattering the reserves resolve and many were fleeing even before the lines clashed. For all their fatigue the Goneril troops battled evenly or better with the Almyran reserves. The low quality equipment of the latter rarely able to penetrate the thick plates of the defenders.

Jeralt gave the order and the remaining mixed unit advanced in. Even those among the Almyrans with strong stomachs turned and fled. Jeralt relished nothing in wounding as many as he could until there were no more in sight.

A ragged cheer came from the survivors. Victory only because the enemy retreated on the cusp of victory.

“Captain,” Alois said, “we've got a problem.”

“What is it, Alois?”

“Follow me.” His third-in-command led him over to a pile of Almyrans. Most of them still crawling around in pain but disarmed. Sometimes literally. Alois brought him over to a short man holding against a tree. He panicked on approach, frantically waving his arms around and shouting words that sounded half-similar to Fódlan. Alois settled him down and pulled off his helm.

Goddess… “He’s just a kid.” Maybe ten, at most. The armor and padding had blown him out as large as an old man but the boy hadn’t even the faintest trace of a beard coming in. Not that he expected a nation that launched constant invasions to be pleasant but this was beyond the pale.

“He’s not the only one.” Jeralt followed Alois around. Dozens of kids in the reserve units. Some of them didn’t even have armor. The only thing they shared were tears.

The Goneril soldiers rounded them up with practiced ease. This was far from the first time Almyrans sent children after them. He could understand children involved in defending a location, but an outright attack?

Jeralt nearly slapped himself. Everything made sense now. He would have words with Goneril. 

The living recuperated, the prisoners marched up and the dead left where they were for the time. Back in the Locket proper the other two defensive lines were conducting their own clean-up operations. The north looked to be just as damaged as the south. The center, where Goneril was, seemed to be in decent shape. The general himself was booming with laughter despite it all. If he was so cheery despite all the kids here then he needed to be taken down a notch.

Jeralt headed over and Goneril, for whatever reason, had an Almyran soldier pinned under his arm while he was walking about taking stock of the defenses. “Jeralt my good man, I heard you saved the southern line.” The man had nearly a dozen untreated wounds across his personage.

Jeralt crossed his arms and tried not to stare at the struggling prisoner. “Your men did good work. The archers especially.”

“Not quite the Chosen or the Valkyries but the Deadeyes are a close third.”

“Right. Right. Could I have a word with you, in private?”

Goneril’s eyes narrowed. He already knew. “I hardly think it’s the time. Your wounds haven’t been treated yet.”

“Nor have yours.”

“Then let’s get that fixed, shall we?” He gave a great big grin. “And no talking shop in front of the physicians, aye?”

* * *

“Seriously, big brother, what’s even the point of getting all these wounds?”

The pink-haired girl wrapped bandages around the body of General Goneril in the infarmy of the Goneril mansion nearby the Locket.

“You know why, Hilda.”

“Really, you won’t be able to keep defending the Locket if you keep getting hurt this much.” She finished tightening up the last of the linens. “There, all done.”

“Thank you. You’re just the best.”

“I know. I know. I’ll be going now. All this blood and battle is not for a delicate flower like me.” She walked out of the room even over his protests.

“Nice sister.”

Goneril sighed. “She’s got such potential but she never wants to live up to it. I hope a year in the Officers Academy under your tutelage will get her all worked up.”

It reminded him of the Bergliez situation for some reason. “Well, that’s for the future. Right now I have a far more important concern to share with you.”

Goneril nodded. “The prisoners.” It was just the two of them now.

“The prisoners.” Jeralt leaned in, lowering his voice. “If you want to speak of this somewhere more private, I’m willing.”

“There’s no need,” Goneril saw no need to whisper either. “You’ll see soon enough.”

That sounded bad. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Almost on order, a fresh wave of servants came in. Servants. With their darker skin tones, heads bowed low; rarely did they make eye contact and the one time his eyes met with theirs the browns darted about to avoid. Clothing battered and ragged, coarse even on sight. They were Almyran servants. “You keep the Almyrans you capture as labor?” It took a good deal of restraint not to add on slave.

“And let them go back to the general who sends children out to battle?”

“Keeping them as… ‘free’ labor isn’t exactly the best option.”

“It’s not against the tenets.”

“Yeah… well…” He couldn’t deny that. If he hadn’t pushed Rhea to intervene in Duscur that would have been a massacre. An earlier one, anyway. Was no possibility she was gonna care about a bunch of people who actually did attack Fódlan? Like with Dagda and Brigid? He had to try. “Humane treatment doesn’t stop just because they’re beyond the border. Lady Rhea personally treated Dagdans and Brigid prisoners after that war was over.”

That confidant smile never faded from him. “So do we. We rescue them, provide medical care, housing, clothing, food and water.”

“And I’m sure the labor is out of their own will.”

“And what do you suggest? Almyra doesn’t ransom back for them. They’re conscripts: orphans, street urchins and the other downtrodden of society. Some of them don’t even know how to write their own language, much less Fódlan’s. Try speaking with one. All you’ll get is half-broken tongue and looks of confusion.”

He wasn’t here to get in a moral debate. Let Rhea handle that. “You’re the expert and it’s your house. I’m not gonna intervene.”

“The fact that you care is already more than other guests of the house.” Goneril shook his head. “It’s not fair, it’s not right. But my house’s estates are tied into protecting my people. We don’t have the luxury of educating our enemies. Even this draws contempt from a good lot of the men. Believing they take proper work from good Fódlan people. Rubbish thinking that.”

“Letting them go hasn’t crossed your mind, has it?”

“To where? Almyra and they’ll be back attacking and die or kill. To Fódlan where they can’t speak? Where they’ll be attacked by discrimination? No. Keeping them here is for their own good. They simply can’t function without our good efforts.”

“Well, you’re the expert here.” As much as anyone was. “But this is something I need to report to Lady Rhea.”

“I would not hide this from her inspection.”

Wouldn’t announce it either. “Then I’ll get to sending out a messenger.”

“You do good work, Jeralt. I wouldn’t mind having you visit the Locket again.”

“Maybe we’ll get to share a drink next time.”

Jeralt headed out to track down Byleth first. But his thoughts couldn’t stop from considering the vile nature of the situation. It was slavery, pure and simple. Considering what he saw Almyra seemed barely better off on the idea either. Goneril had down a damn good job hiding this if even he hadn’t heard about it.

Was there anything he could do about this? Would Rhea do anything? Nobody would donate money to educate the people who kept attacking him. Gross as it was, Goneril had his points. Didn’t mean he had to like it. But he couldn’t think of a solution by the time he found Byleth.

Who was speaking with Goneril’s sister of all people. He called him over and they left, prompting Jeralt to ask just what was going on. “So, what were you two talking about?”

“Marriage.”

“I—what?” That was as far from his interests as anything got. “How did that come up?”

“She said I was handsome and cared about people,” his son replied.

Was she trying to manipulate him or something? “Well, what do you think? About marriage.” He’d never shown a single twinge of romance in all his years so Jeralt had never bothered him about it.

“It exists.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Well, if it was what he wanted, it was what he wanted. A shame to have the ring go to waste though. “Maybe that will change, one day.”

“Maybe.” About as positive a response as he ever gave.

* * *

Forewarned twice in advance, Rhea’s arrival at Fódlan’s Locket and the Goneril estate were met with accepted acknowledgement of the fort’s defenses and the treatment of the prisoners of war. She went about, personally thanking each soldier who survived, and offered prayers for those lost. Her hands went about healing those yet retaining wounds, Fódlan and Almyran.

Her faith work finished, she set a meeting with Goneril in private. Inviting Jeralt, Byleth and Shamir to attend alongside her and Seteth. He reluctantly accepted, while Shamir excused herself and Byleth declined for some other reason.

The wardroom was furnished as much as one would expect the second Duke of the Leicester Alliance to be. Fabulous tapestries adorned the walls. War banners in gold with the Crest of Goneril and Freikugal. Thick carpeting with a deep golden color and wooden furniture capped with the trappings of silver and gold. Goneril sat at the second seat, the head ever reserved for his father, the actual duke who was away on roundtable business.

Rhea, Seteh and he took opposite seats. Declining an invitation to tea, but a serving boy of Almyran features brought some for the general. Couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Dark hair that had never seen a comb, brown eyes doing their best not to galre. Clothes just a bit above threadbare and shows torn in several places. Hardly the type one would present in a meeting between any two people, much less the archbishop of the Church of Seiros.

“Hello, child,” Rhea called out to him. “What is your name?”

The boy started back in a panic, only for Goneril to straighten him out with a shake. “Your name, boy. The lady asked your name.”

“C-Cyril,” he choked out, his name spoken with a twange of an accent one attributed to less-learned commoners.

“How long have you been working here, Cyril?”

The boy blinked a few times. “F-five month. Must work. Work hard.”

“He’s one of our hardest workers,” Goneril said. A lie to Jeralt’s ears. A meaningless compliment. He probably never heard his name before today.

“I was not aware the fortunes of House Goneril have fallen so low as to approve of labor such as this.”

“Plenty of farming families have their children work the fields, even younger than he. Knights of the Kingdom learn the sword before their letters and numbers. My upbringing was much the same.”

“To aid one's family is a noble aspiration. To not be given a choice is the opposite.”

“My lady Rhea, I have long thought the same implications. But the matter is simple. We cannot invest in both the security of the border and those the Almyrans abandon.” All the gold in the room spoke otherwise. “One must suffer for the sake of the other, so we prioritize all of Fódlan and care for these discarded as best we can. Or is the Kingdom’s solution the preference here?”

Rhea sat in quiet contemplation for a few moments, letting Seteth take the lead. “I will not speak expertly of House Goneril’s affairs, nor its treatment of prisoners. We will not intervene on such matters unless the matters become one of notice. So long as they are treated humanly we have no concern for intervention.” 

Slavery was never humane but there wasn’t much he could argue against here.

“I daresay we are more humane than much of Fódlan would treat them. Sreng, Duscur. I’ve heard of how Brigid consented to ransom and Dagda... Remind me, where did prisoners in the thousands go when the Empire had no more desire to feed and cloth them?”

“Here, yes,” said Seteth. “But the people of Dagda share a more common appearance with Fódlan than Almyra does.”

Goneril leaned in and tapped the table. “Precisely my point. Should they be loosed they’d merely be slain like beasts. Here they are safe. Here they are cared for.”

“As I said, so long as they are cared for, there will be no need for intervention.”

“Then there’s no problem.” Goneril leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea. “Hurry along, Cyril.” The boy scattered with a hurry Jeralt saw commonly among those running from physical punishment.

“Are there… incidents, between the Almyrans and others?” Jeralt asked.

Goneril nodded. “Plenty. Even among each other. They fight one another for food, clothing, even beds.”

Telling him to get more would have just brought another point about stretched finances. “You’re gonna have to do something. If your facilities are expended so much further attacks will only exacerbate the problem.”

Goneril stared into the tea. “There’s talk at the roundtable conferences, of course, when I must work in my father’s absence. Nothing ever comes to it. Duke Reigan extends some sympathies but Count Glouscter fights him on every issue. Margrave Edmund offers financing to maintain the Locket, not for the soldiers. Count Ordelia...” Goneril shook his head and looked from his drink. “To say more is a disservice. There is simply endless debate and no action taken until it affects more than one of us.”

The weakness of an equal government. At least they didn’t have to deal with a regent declaring a blood war. 

“I understand the weight of your decisions, General Goneril,” Rhea returned to the conversation. “The Central Church will relay the need of additional funding to the Eastern Church and request the aid of the faithful in spreading the good works of the goddess to your needs.” It was a surprise, to be sure. He fought damn hard to get her to intervene with Duscur and it’d cost the church plenty. Directly decreeing such a thing was an incredible move.

“You do me much honor by alleviating this burden, Your Grace.”

“The goddess protects all the faithful, and all those who would be faithful.” Was she planning on converting them? Or was this another situation like Shamir? “Such funding will require an oversight bishop to ensure the totalled funds are allocated correctly, but the numerous casualties I’ve seen suggest an additional set of faith healers would be welcomed.”

Goneril mulled over the idea between sips of tea. “Such a thing would warrant talks directly with my father, but would not need the attention of a roundtable conference. I am certain we can manage some arrangement to all our benefits.”

“There is another matter, of course. The boy, Cyril, I would request he accompany us back to Garreg Mach.”

The idea took Goneril aback, even if he tried to hide it behind his cup. “I will consent, of course, but, may I ask, why?”

She’d the look that Jeralt would call “doing it on a whim”. “Though the suffering of all concerns me, and certainly there are others, too, in need amongst the Almyrans. But when one so unfortunate as he crosses my sight I cannot help but offer my hand.” That was the Rhea from his memories. The one who gave her blood to him, gave him a hundred years. The one who earned so many devoted. The Rhea he was believing in once more.

“If that is your wish, you have my full permission.”

“Then I shall inform him at once. Good day, General.” Rhea excused herself with an almost frightening speed and Jeralt and Seteth were a tad slow in following her outside.

“Rhea,” Seteth said before they caught up to the boy, “what is the meaning of this?”

“This young man is in need of help. There is no other reason.” That was how it always began. And holy knight was how it ended.

“The monks are not… kind to those outside the faith.” Didn’t expect Seteth to point that out. “Even when such discrimination goes against word, he will expierence prejudice at the monastary.”

“I hope his full devotion will sway such thoughtless minds.”

“As your will dicates.” But Seteth was hiding a grimace and Jeralt wasn’t gonna put down a good deed like this.

They reached the boy, who did his best to avoid standing out. It failed when Rhea bent down before them a calm smile gifted to him. “Hello, Cyril. My name is Rhea.”

The boy nodded, waited for any instructions. “How would you like a meal?” His eyes went wide, but he tried to hide his interest. “Three meals, every day. And a bed, all to yourself.” The boy stared, interest in the words he understood standing out. Slowly, he nodded. “I can take you. If you say ‘yes’.”

“Y-yes!” He was either desperate or so broken he’d forgotten adults could lie. 

Rhea’s smile widened at his enthusiasm. “Welcome, Cyril.”

* * *

The sudden inclusion of Cyril into their traveling party northwards did little to change things. The boy stayed to himself, or at Rhea’s side. Bringing her anything she asked for, or helping strike the camp or fix wagon wheels or tend to the horses. All for three meals and the bedding of someone who’d died during the trip. He probably was the hardest worker in the Goneril estate from how quick he took to things.

Most of the escort ignored him, but some shot the boy needless glares. Like he was intruding on Rhea’s finite grace. He ignored them. Ignored most everybody. Boy simply couldn’t speak Fódlan. He had a few bits from getting shouted at, and some of the Almyran words Jeralt overheard sounded similar enough to Fódlan that him learning wasn’t out of the question…

The only person that went out of her way to speak with him, besides Rhea, was Shamir. It made enough sense. They were both foreigners who owed Rhea. Her own tert nature made sure she didn’t mince words when speaking with the kid and he picked up a few new words over the week.

The meeting with the Eastern Church was a reprieve after all the events of the journey. No bandits, no Almyrans (save Cyril) and no veiled politics. The bishops were eager to bend to Rhea’s favor and boldly accepted the oversight of Fódlan’s Locket in return for an official statement they could start arming their own forces.

Maybe one day that would be a bad idea. They’d be like the Western Church and Jeralt would be coming here to put them down. But that was far in the future. For now everything was stable as it ever got.

Bandit attacks, foreign invasions, slavery. Yeah. Stable as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that ends the Alliance section in somewhat odd circumstances.
> 
> Two more chapters for Broken Blade then it's Byleth time.


	16. Chapter 16

_Imperial Year 1178. Under the direction of Archbishop Rhea, the Eastern Church of Fódlan'is permitted to expand its operations by way of a knightly order. As part of the agreement, a detachment of knights will assist in the defense of the Leicester Alliance's fortress: Fódlan's Locket Within the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the Western Church remains silent at the news._

_For a year after, the Broken Blade engage in further missions across Fódlan. Examining local centers of worship. Fighting against bandits and corruption; acting as a shield for the defenseless. The Broken Blade's reputation stretches across Fódlan independent of the Knights of Seiros._

_Guardian Moon, Imperial Year 1179. The Broken Blade returns to Garreg Mach Monastery from a deployment in western Faerghus. Their arrival is met with dire news._

**Guardian Moon, Imperial Year 1179**

"Greetings, Captain!" The gatekeeper's voice was cheery as usual. "Plenty to report today!" Even at matters when it shouldn't be.

Knights and monks nearby were whispering in groups. Jittery and nervous. "What happened while we were away?" With the rest of the Broken Blade busy entertaining themselves in town it was just Byleth and him for now.

"I've got two pieces of good news, and one terrible."

_Naturally_. "Let's start with the good."

"First: old Tomas the librarian has returned from Ordelia territory in the Alliance."

Thank the goddess. His replacement was startlingly incompetent. "The second?"

"We've finally got a new combat instructor assigned. Jertiza von Hrym from the Empire. I've seen his skills first hand - I think he'd be a tough match, even for you."

Another thing to be thankful for. But House Hrym? They were responsible for the Hrym Rebellion, which would cause the Insurrection of the Seven. Which led to Patricia and Volkhard's flight to the Kingdom. The Tragedy of Duscur. The Punishment of Duscur. The border troubles. The Dagda and Brigid War. Not a single good thing came out of that whole damn mess.

If he was good news, what was the _bad_? "And what's got everyone running around like someone died? Did someone die?"

The gatekeeper frowned. "One of the students was reported missing yesterday. Lady Monica von Ochs of the Empire."

Heiress to her house. "Is foul play suspected?" Ochs wasn't very wealthy after the Dagda and Brigid War ravaged their lands and killed her father, but she was still an heiress worth a fair sum.

"The initial reports are she fled of her own will. Must have been pretty skilled to make it past this gate guard!"

It was rare, but students sometimes broke under the pressure. Still, the recent years have been too unstable to just accept the idea as presented. And Guardian Moon wasn't the best month to run away in. "I'll report in to Lady Rhea. Byleth, go see what you can find out."

His son nodded without expression. "Where was she roomed?"

"I believe it was on the second floor of the dormitories," said the gatekeeper. "It should be marked."

"Any physical description?"

"She had vibrant red hair and eyes."

Byleth nodded again and wordlessly head off. Following in his son's gumption Jeralt headed up to Rhea. He didn't spend long in the audience chamber as Rhea pulled him aside into the vacant office as he gave his report.

"Thank you for your continued service, Jeralt. How fares your son?"

"Well. Another mission without a scratch on him. He's already looking into the missing Ochs girl."

"You've heard already? I appreciate your alacrity in these matters."

Jeralt nodded. "Who was her professor this year?" Really should have gotten that from the gatekeeper, now that he thought about it.

"Professor Vaike took charge of the Black Eagle House this year."

Jeralt only had two meetings with the guy but he was quite the hothead. Some kids might find him too overbearing. "We'll do our best to uncover the truth."

"Please do." Rhea crossed her fingers in prayer. "For next year may be the most important in all of Fódlan."

"What for?"

"From the Empire will arrive the Imperial princess Edelgard von Hresvelg. From the Kingdom: Crown Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. And from the Alliance, the next sovereign duke, Claude von Reigan. The heirs of Fódlan's future."

Garrag Mach was going to be the most important political location in all of Fódlan. Anyone looking to damage one of the nations or the church just had to cut one of the brats and it'd be open war just like that. If the kids themselves didn't try it. Even if tensions between the Empire and Kingdom had dulled they still existed. And there was one other point to address as well. "So, Duke Reigan finally legitimized one of his nephews, did he?" Bit late to send him to the academy though.

"Claude von Reigan is the duke's grandson."

"Huh? Really?" Godfrey von Reigan died without any heirs. That meant he was the son of Godfrey's sister, Maria von Reigan, who'd long vanished from the public eye. Or some otherwise unknown bastard.

"An official investigation carried out by the Eastern Church has confirmed he possesses the Crest of Reigan."

Then that was sure to be a fascinating story of its own. "I've distracted us. My apologies."

"I will officially task you with uncovering the truth behind Monica von Ochs's disappearance. Whether by her own flight or underhanded means, seek the truth."

"We will do our utmost." Jeralt bowed, and was dismissed.

Finding the girl was far more important than fixing his growling stomach or making sure the paperwork was taken care of so he headed straight to the student dormitories on the west side and rose up to the second level. A few students were gossiping in loud whispers in the halls, and there was even a pair of knights on duty outside the room which was assuredly Monica's.

The doors to the room showed signs of forced entry. Maybe she really was kidnapped? Inside, Byleth was checking over the modest interior. Red carpet for the Black Eagles, a tucked in bed, a dresser with the bottom drawer empty and little of note on the desk. Nothing seemed to indicate a rushed exit. "Find anything?" he asked his son.

Byleth was next to the dresser, checking the empty bottom shelf. "Not yet." He knocked on wood. "But there's something here."

Jeralt moved in closer. "What do you mean?"

Byleth pushed the drawer back in, then out. "Hear that?"

"No?"

"There's an odd scratching sound when I pull it out."

Jeralt crossed his arms. "It's an old piece. Probably had a hundred people use it."

"There's no hitch on the slide." Byleth ducked under and looked under. He rolled back his shirt sleeve and reached in… and pulled out a small purse.

"A hidden coin purse, huh?" Jingling as it was withdrawn. Pretty full from the size.

"The only coin I've found."

Smaller than his hand, so it wasn't a lot of money. But if you were running, why leave any behind? "You think someone abducted her, then made her room look like she'd left of her own accord?"

"It's a possibility."

Plenty suspicious, moreso with the state of the door but... "We still don't have much to go on. Let's go check with her professor and classmates. See if she was acting stressed."

Byleth nodded and the two of them headed towards the homerooms of the three houses. It was well after regular instruction hours but Professor Vaike was still in the Black Eagle classroom. A few of his students were speaking with him, but once Jeralt and Byleth arrived he dismissed them. "Gentlemen," he said without the fire Jeralt expected. "Are you here about Monica?"

"You've got it. What can you tell us about her?"

The man sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well, she was a sullen girl. Not quite friends with her classmates. No real rivalries, either. Kept to herself, mostly. Decent grades, but nothing standout."

Someone easy to overlook and quick to excuse if she vanished… "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Four days ago."

_Four?_ "The gatekeeper said she was only reported missing yesterday."

"Indeed. We assumed sickness and left assignments at her room."

"No one tried to speak with her?"

"As I said, she had no real friends. The students I tasked with delivering her assignments didn't wait for a response. I delivered the papers myself yesterday and forced my way in when I didn't receive a response."

That explained the damage to the door. "Any incidents with other students?"

"None I was aware of. Though, I don't think I'm fit to answer that if one of my students ran away."

"What about a kidnapping?"

Vaike sat straighter at the idea. "I have thought it over. House Ochs hasn't been the most prosperous House since the war. Maybe any kidnappers thought they would spend money on ransom rather than rescue but…"

"There's been no note," Jeralt finished.

"Right. Her family had some old rivals back in the Empire but none of them were involved with this year's student body."

A bit of new information but nothing that got them any closer to an answer. "Well, thank you for your time, Professor. If you hear anything or have any other ideas, let us know."

"I will." The man fell back in his chair. "And… May I confide in you, Captain?"

Why did everyone? "Sure."

"I think regardless of the future of this situation, I am not fit to teach."

"What gave you that idea?"

"If she left of her own accord, I overlooked any troubled behavior. If she was taken, I could not protect my students. What right do I have to keep teaching?"

He couldn't speak against that. "If it's your decision."

"It is."

"I won't fault you. But, I would if you gave up on her."

A smile tugged at his lips. "You're an interesting man, Captain. I wish you stayed at the monastery more often."

Jeralt shrugged. "A lot of people say that."

"Then I'll not keep you any more."

Jeralt and Byleth spent the rest of daylight interviewing and investigating any lead they could possibly get. They double-checked her classmates who only repeated Vaike's testimony in their own words. The knights saw not a hair of her and the monks the same. Repeated the same by grounds staff and pilgrims and other houses' students. Even Cyril hadn't seen her and he walked the grounds more than anyone. The complete lack of evidence was suspicious in its own right. If the girl was so average a student, how had she evaded detection by highly-trained sentries and hundreds of people? While carrying luggage?

The same went for any kidnapper. Had they warped out of the common areas? Another round of questioning brought information that Monica focused on a physical skill set, so it was unlikely on her head. Warping an unwilling participant was highly dangerous. She could have hired someone to warp her away but that seemed a stretch...

Her last appearance four days prior had been on the eastern side of the grounds. Closer to the monastery staff quarters. Normally it was restricted from student visitation so Jeralt had the idea that maybe they'd overlooked something, but the section's servants hadn't seen her either.

They had so little to go on that Jeralt even checked with the returned Tomas in the library if he saw anything.

"I cannot say that I did," the vetern librarian answered. "Miss Ochs did not seem much for company from her time in the library."

"She a bookworm?"

"It seemed she preferred them over people. Much like myself." The man let out a chuckle that turned into a cough. "To think such a suspicious circumstance should occur upon my return to Garreg Mach."

It might have seemed suspicious coming from anyone else but Tomas had served half as long as Jeralt had (and with ten times the effect of aging). His loyalty and dedication were beyond reproach. Even if he wasn't, the man leaned so heavily on his cane and strained just to breathe between sentences. He simply couldn't have abducted her himself.

But it did give him another idea. On the other recent arrival.

The new combat instructor: Jeritza von Hyrm. Jeralt confronted him at the training grounds.

"Who?" Though a mask may have covered the upper half of his face the sheer boredom of his voice made his feelings clear enough.

"Monica von Ochs. The missing girl? It's why the whole monastery is on edge."

"Oh. That."

"Not very concerned, are you?"

"Is it not the knights' job to provide security? That is not what I am here for."

Man was looking more suspicious with each line. "All right, combat instructor, did you see anything suspicious regarding Monica's training here?"

"Perhaps." Jeralt waited for something else, only to grumble and give him a description of the girl. "Ah, her. No, I saw nothing. She did not care for my lessons. Like so many others."

"I see."

It all felt just a bit too suspicious for Jeralt, so he made sure to keep tabs on the guy for a while. But neither Shamir or Byleth found anything connecting him to the girl. Jeritza sometimes went into town for an evening, towards sweets shops of all things apparently, but was otherwise content with either training or standing around being unapproachable in the monastery. If he was responsible he hid it well.

Their investigation found no purchase. Days turned into a week, a week into weeks and those weeks turned into the next month.

**Pegasus Moon, Imperial Year 1179**

Without hope. There was nothing below in Abyss. No information on the monastery's secret passages. No word ever came from the girl returning home. She was lost and beyond their help. The investigation was eventually ruled as her running away. They'd failed. As simple as that.

Byleth kept trying, bless the kid for caring even if his face never showed it. But it was also impacting his other work. Any time he wasn't trying to desperately track down cold leads he was on the training field. Day after day it was hour after hour of defeating student, squire or knight. Even the holy knights were feeling his ire and more than once Jeralt had to force himself into combat to make sure things didn't go too far.

A lot of the time he couldn't stop it. He didn't know quite when it happened but Jeralt was the one that was struggling more in their bouts. More and more Byleth evened out the disparity between their victories in practice. And if it was this bad for him the other fighters were doomed.

He spied Byleth sparring with Alois, and crushing him utterly in hand-to-hand combat. Against Gilbert and overwhelming the man's practiced defense with speed and deft feints. Shamir's misdirections and insight proved no match for his son. Holy knights, Saint soldiers. Some of the best veterans in the church couldn't keep up with him. The only one other than Jeralt that could retain parity was Jeritza.

If he kept the pace most of the church's military was gonna end up in the infirmary.

Kid needed to get out. Do some good again. jeralt approached Seteth near the end of the month and asked for a new assignment.

Seteth looked up from the documents he was gathering on his desk. "Nothing outstanding, and certainly nothing for men of your caliber."

"Caliber isn't the point. Byleth just needs to get out and do something. Being here this long is wearing on him."

"I've received the reports of his constant dueling, but that is not so out of bounds, is it?"

"It is when the infirmary is overpacked with his opponents. You can see the line from here." Jeralt pointed it out.

Rarely was Seteth surprised but the man's eyes shot open like lightning. "Goodness. I simply thought Professor Manuela had passed out again."

"If anything she's overworked!"

"Damn straight I'm overworked!" her yell conveniently timed itself.

Seteth settled back in his chair however. "It's going to be difficult enough finding a replacement professor for next year following Professor Vaike's resignation. The church would be weakened considerably by your absence. Especially given the importance of our next host of students."

"I can leave Alois behind, he's plenty experienced with the rigors of the office by now. I just need to do what's best for my kid. You know? And with him single-handedly weakening the monastary's defenses it's better for security if he does leave." He embellished a tad.

To his surprise, Seteth nodded. "While it's a far cry from the danger you're accustomed to, there is unrest in the Ochs territory at the moment."

"Sounds perfect." If he can't help the girl, at least he can help her people.

"I take it you have yet to inform Lady Rhea of your intentions?"

"Came to you first to make sure there was something we could do."

"Prudent."

"But I think I can manage it. I think he's more likely to hurt himself here than afield." Mentally, anyway.

"Then I wish you a safe return."

Telling Rhea was going to be another ordeal. Every time he wondered if she would finally put her foot down and prevent Byleth from leaving. But after all these years she kept relenting. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe his paranoia had amounted to nothing but ruining their relationship. But it was too late to change the past.

He engaged with her in the audience chamber. Her alone standing in front of the ornate throne. "I've accepted an assignment to the Ochs territory. There's plenty of unrest and there's gonna be more with their heiress missing. A perfect place to put the Broken Blade to good use."

A slight dip of her eyes. A soft sigh of disgust. "Do you find Garreg Mach so unsightly, Jeralt? It seems you spend more time abroad than at home recently."

Home. Yes. This would always be his home. "My heart will always belong at Garreg Mach. But should we remain I fear more for my child's safety than abroad. He pursues the Ochs girl with a ferocity I've never seen before. Hones his blade on imaginary kidnappers while using real people. He needs a release, do some good for the world. Doing some good for Ochs's people might be just what he needs."

"Then shall you return another day? And leave with the moon?"

"Plenty of the knights serve abroad for time such as ours."

"It is not solely your duties I concern myself with. Your dear child's life has been so chaotic. He has seen so much death."

"We both knew that was a possibility living here."

"Were man not so fixated on violence."

_Only were the Goddess return_. "We'll return. We always have. We'll make sure those royal heirs get the best combat education Fódlan has to offer."

"Goddess protect you, Jeralt. Your son, and all who go with you."

Jeralt went about telling Byleth who responded with his usual stone-faced acceptance. But the tension in his shoulders eased, his hand did not grip his sword quite as hard. Little things. Important things.

With flowers set on her grave, they set out the next day. Former professor Vaike accompanied them. Broken Blade on mission again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I broke twenty editing passes on this chapter so hopefully it's pretty quality!
> 
> Man, it took me until writing this to realize how suspicious it is that Tomas shows back up in the same timeframe Monica gets kidnapped.
> 
> In order to celebrate the release of Three House's final DLC (or maybe final for DLC pack 1, hopefully) the final chapter of Broken Blade will be coming out sometime later this week! As well as the first chapter of the sequel series which will probably be called: Ashen Wake. Finally getting to Byleth's perspective. And just to preview how different that will be... The final BB chapter and first AW chapter tell the same events. BB final is 4 pages. AW1 is 15.
> 
> But also some bad news. That's it for everything I wrote back in November (barring Byleth's memories of BB events from his perspective that will show up way, way later on). So no more weekly updates for a while. I intend to get some good Cindered Shadows play in, figure out how to meld the Ashen Wolves into the story proper. Current idea is to start writing in the back half of February and try and get something posted mid-late-March. Maybe throw out another Edeleth one-shot for Valentine's Day.
> 
> See you soon. Or not because that would be kind of creepy, really.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I don't actually know the precise time that Cindered Shadows is dropping and my scleep schedule is best summed up with "I sleep while the sun's up and wake up with the sun up" I'm posting the Broken Blade finale... well, now, obviously, right before I go to sleep. Then the first chapter of Ashen Wake will show up once I wake up in 4-10 hours.

**Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1180**

Three months of successful campaigning concluded, the Broken Blade came back round to Remire Village again. The people were all familiar smiles once they saw them walk up to the village's reaches. A small feast was put together, paid for with all the coin they'd earned putting down brigands in the Empire. It was a relaxing time for all of them. Even Byleth. Getting out and doing something had completely erased all the tension that he'd been building after the Ochs abduction. Hopefully it wouldn't return when they got back tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Back to royal heirs and noble brats. They'd been gone a bit too long and the school year was underway by now. Not good for ingratiating them to the future political elite. But it'd work out. It always did.

They retired for the night, sleep passed and dawn came. A rare dawn that Jeralt awoke to under his own power rather than Byleth interrupting him.

Course, his son came right after Jeralt put his equipment on. "Something the matter?" Jeralt asked.

"The girl… talked."

Jeralt had to blink at the words. Fifteen years (give or take) of her on that throne without a single word. "What did she say?" Too curious to ignore.

"I… can't remember." Byleth actually looked down at the thought. "And the war. There was a woman. And a man. And Heroes' Relics?"

"You need to stop reading the books of Seiros before bed."

"I saw Thunderbrand. And Aegis Shield. And the lances."

He'd never personally seen Areadbhar, the Lance of Ruin, or Lúin. Was this the result of whatever Rhea did to him? "What did they look like?"

Seth burst into the room, desperation between pants. "Jeralt, sir! We've got trouble out front!"

Dammit. "Let's get going."

The three of them ran out into the still dark dawn. At the wall the rest of the Broken Blade had already gathered in their full kit. Alongside them were nervous, jittery Remire militia with makeshift weapons and cloth armor. And in the center of it all were... Officers Academy students?

Two boys and a girl.

"Knights of Seiros, what luck!" said the boy in the middle. Blond hair, blue eyes. Blue cape. Blue Lions. Crown Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. "We require your aid, good sirs."

"What's the matter?" Jeralt asked.

"Our camp nearby was attacked by bandits," said the boy on the left. Darker skin, golden cape and a look of confidence despite the odds. Claude von Reigan. "We managed to give them the slip but they're right on our tail."

Bandits? In the Empire? so close to Remire and the monastery? Something was off about this. "Where's your escort?"

"Dealing with the bulk of the group," said the girl on the right. White hair, clear purple eyes and a red cape. Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg.

"Why'd you run instead of standing your ground?"

"Well," said Claude, "with the darkness and confusion going on I thought it better to get my bearings away from all the fighting."

"And we followed when they broke off to pursue him," said Dimitri, with Edelgard nodding in agreement.

This would be a pain. "Do you have a head count on the bandits?"

"My best estimate was thirty following us," said Edelgard. "None of them equipped for indirect combat."

He had a breath of relief at that. Thirty wasn't gonna be a problem. It could even be an opportunity. He looked at Byleth. "All right kid, take point. Leave some bandits up so the students can get a swing in." He looked back at the students. "You three follow in behind him. The Broken Blade and I will cover the flanks and rear so nothing gets the drop on you, or gets into the village." Byleth moved without a word.

"You're asking us to fight?" said Claude. Not that the kid seemed surprised.

"You didn't come to the Officers Academy to avoid fights, did you? Think of it as your first unofficial mission."

Claude laughed. "So our first official mission will be heading back to Garreg Mach then?"

"This is no laughing matter, Claude," said Dimitri. "Captain Jeralt, is it wise to have your son take the vanguard alone?"

Did he...? "He's more than capable. If things go badly I'll ride right in."

Edelgard looked at his son. "You have a strange aura about you." What did she mean by that? "I look forward to seeing you in action." The way she eyed him was strange. Even for people who eyed his son.

"I profess my most sincere thanks for your assistance," said Dimitri.

"Yeah! You guys have really bailed us out of this mess," added Claude.

This year was gonna be a fun one. "Get going, kid."

Byleth nodded and took the lead. From the darkness came the bandits, dressed in ratty black and illuminated by the few torches nearby. Some blowheart in the distance was bemoaning his luck but it didn't matter.

Byleth was like lightning. Three quick cuts and his first foe was down. "Hurry up before he leaves you behind," Jeralt advised the students. They'd not waited dumbstruck but they hadn't been expecting the quick, lethal efficiency of his son.

The next three bandits to emerge were left merely wounded rather than corpses. The students followed in right after. Claude's arrows the first to score a kill. Accurate fire but the kid flourished like nothing else. That could be a bad habit later one. Dimitri was fast and powerful. He utterly overwhelmed his injured foe and stabbed his spear halfway down its shaft with a thrust. A damn lot of power but a lapse in self control. That would need to be tempered. Edelgard aimed a single chop at her enemy's neck and moved on. Top marks on the kill, but she didn't ensure her enemy was fully down before leaving. They all had a lot to learn.

The Broken Blade cautiously followed after the young, making sure nothing popped up from the pitch-black brush surrounding them. A second wave of bandits weaved around the watchtower in front but Byleth was carefully able to wound them and let the house leaders finish them off at their own pace. It was almost routine, so Jeralt expected some nasty trap was waiting on the far side.

On the far side of the watchtower a dozen of the bandits were gathering around a big man, large as a bear. That had to be their boss. Byleth was already leading the students to the right, through some thick brush so Jeralt brought the Broken Blade around the left. They'd pincer and crush the bandits without much effort.

The bandit boss ran in, got completely outfought by Byleth, and kicked aside effortlessly. The bandits panicked around their defeated and unmoving boss. His son continued on, sending the remaining bandits fleeing backwards and letting Edelgard handle a single bandit by herself. She took a bad exchange, but overpowered her foe and left her ax embedded in him as he staggered back and fell. Claude and Dimitri had gone far afield chasing another two. Their attacks quickly earned them a victory and Byleth had two more dead at his feet. This was gonna wrap up soon.

The remaining seven or so bandits gathered around their dead boss—who suddenly sprang to his feet! He saw the unarmed Edelgard and rushed at her immediately with a mighty cry and an ax held high! Like a fool she stood her ground and pulled out a dagger to protect herself. Jeralt and everyone moved full speed but they had no way to intercept—

Byleth could.

His son shoved the girl aside and the ax—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, what a downer ending.


End file.
